il^ 


, 


^<u. 


~J 


LINCOLN  ROOM 

UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 
LIBRARY 


MEMORIAL 

the  Class  of  1901 


founded  by 

HARLAN  HOYT  HORNER 

and 

HENRIETTA  CALHOUN  HORNER 


I 


'3^^^.  J .  ^z^^^^^tX^ 


-J 


-J 


THE  BURDEN  BEARER 


-J 


The  Burden  bearer 


AN   EPIC   OF   LINCOLN 


BY 

FRANCIS    HOWARD    WILLIAMS 


PHILADELPHIA 

GEORGE  W.   JACOBS    &    CO. 

PUBLISHERS 


-J 


This  edition  of  ' '  The  Burden  Bearer ' '  is  limited  to 
Three  Hundred  copies,  of  which  this  is 


No.  ^St^-^ 
( 


Copyright,    1908,   by 
GEORGE  W.  JACOBS   &   CO. 

Published  November,  igo8 


All  rights  reserved 
Printed   in    U.  S.  A. 


1 


«i 


TO    MY    WIFE 


BOOK   FIRST 


-J 


THE   BURDEN   BEARER 


BOOK    FIRST 


Of  sturdy   English  stock   the   Linkhorns   came, 

People  of   Norfolk,   seeking   in  the   new 

For  what  the  old  denied, — a  human  right 

To  labor  and  to  worship  in  God's  world 

Untrammeled  save  by  conscience  and  the  fear 
Of  one  sole  Maker. 

■  So  John  Linkhorn  came 
To  plant  his  crops  in  Pennsylvania  soil 
And  gather  fruit  beneath  Virginia  sun; 
And  after  him  came  Abraham  in  turn, 
Migrating  to  Kentucky's  distant  fields; 
And  after  Abraham,  Thomas, — he  whose  ways 
Were  never  thrifty,  though  his  heart  was  set 


II 


J 


To  cozen  fortune  whose  averted  face 
Shone  never  on  him.      Slow  of  gait  was  he, 
Stoop-shouldered,   pausing  ever   for  a  jest. 
Hard-handed,  capable  of  labor,  nor 
Striving  to  shun  it  when  it  came  his  way. 
Though  scarce  alert  to  seek  it  out. 

His  friends, — 
And  he  had  many, — called  him   Shiftless  Tom, — 
Tom  Lincoln,  who  could  make  a  joint  at  need 
And  do  such  carpentry  as  few  could  match. 
Yet  all  unlettered.      Patient  at  his  bench 
Within  the  shop  of  Joseph  Hanks  he  wrought. 
And  saw  the  months  glide  into  years  and  all 
The  years  to  bootless  issues.     Yet  a  web 
Was   being   spun   about   his   life   to   lead 
To  undreamed  destinies.     For  Tom  saw  oft 
His  gentle  cousin,  daughter  of  the  man 
Who  paid  him  his  scant  wage.     And  Nancy's  eyes. 
Resting  at  first  complacent  on  the  gaunt 
And  stooping  form  at  Joseph  Hanks's  bench, 
Little  by  little  took  a  softer  light 
And  conjured  up  strange  images  whereof 

13 


They  two  became  a  portion.     And  at  last 
He  spoke,  all  awkwardly  and  ill  at  ease, 
Fashioning  his  untaught  phrase  to  tell  his  love,- 
Unlettered,  rough,  yet  eloquent.     And  she 
Quite  understood  and  loved  him  that  he  failed,- 
Quite  took  into  her  heart  his   futile  trial 
To  make  his  plea  a  poesy;  and  so 
She  gave  her  promise  to  become  his  wife. 

Time's  wheel  turns  slowly,  but  at  last  the  day 
Set  for  the  marriage  came,  and  Jesse  Head, 
Exhorter,  preacher,  and  the  friend  of  both, 
With  ceremony  due  made  these  two  one 
In  eyes  of  God  and  man. 

And   Nancy   faced 
The  stern  reality  of  coming  trials 
With  faith  which  knew  no  faltering. 

Sweet  was  she 
In  all  the  winning  ways  of  womanhood, 
Too  timid  haply  for  the  turbulent  stress 
Of  stern  and  rugged  days.     Within  her  veins 
The  blood  of  those  who  once  serenely  dwelt 

13 


In  English  Malmsbury  flowed  inviolate, 
And  something  of  the  mystic  Stonehenge  hung 
About  her  presence.     Soft  and  vagrant  winds 
Whispered  their  earliest  carols  to  the  child 
Who  knew  no  struggle  till  a  ruthless  world 
Startled  her  sense  and  dashed  her  striving  life 
Against  the  hardships  of  the  pioneer. 

Through  tears  that  told  the  pain  of  parting  shone 
The  light  of  girlish  eyes,  and  from  her  gaze 
Faded  Virginia  hills,  as  in  her  mind 
A  vision  of  the  far  Kentucky  rose. 
And  soon  the  perils  of  the  journey  came, 
The  Wilderness  Road  with  all  its  hidden  fears, 
The  bruit  of  savage  Indians  and  at  night 
The  iterant  cry  of  wolf  and  wildcat,  raised 
As  though  to  stem  the  Western  flowing  stream 
Of  active  life,  grown  milder  at  the  hearth 
Of   human   kindliness.      Thus    did   she   come 
To  live  and  learn  and  to  each  daily  task 
To  bring  her  willing  effort.      Thus  her  face 
Took  on   the   look   of   patience,   and   her   eyes 

14 


Turned  serious,   even  as  our   fancy  paints 

The   eyes   of   Mary   when   the   angel   came 

To   make    annunciation.      For    mayhap 

A  prescience  whispered  to   the  guileless   one: 

"The   day   shall   come   when   thou   shalt  bear   a  man 

To  carry  high   the  torch   of   liberty." 

How  evermore   inscrutable  is   fate! 

How  evermore  implacable  the  scales 

That  weigh  life's  happenings!      A  timid  bride 

Came  Nancy  to  the  cabin  of  the  man 

Whom  she  had  wedded,   unafraid  yet  frail, — 

Alas!  too  frail,   to  cope  with  those  hard  days 

Which   now  became   her   lot. 

For  Tom   had  made 
A  hut  of  rough-hewn  logs,  with  earth  for  floor, 
Windowless,  bare,   and  open  to  the  blast. 
And  here  he  brought  the  wife  whose  daily  toil, 
Faithfully  given,   of   recompense   had  naught 
Save  scanty  food  and  clothing,  and  the  leave 
For   brief   respite   in   weary   slumber.      Here 
Was  born  the  little  Sarah,   all  too  soon 
To  droop   and   seek   again   the   kindly   earth, 

IS 


Leaving  the  fragrant  memory  of  her  smile. 
Then,  in  the  discontent  which  often  breeds 
A  hope  of  future  betterment,  these  two, — 
The  shiftless  pioneer  and  his  fading  wife, — 
Moved  onward  to  a  little  settlement; 
Men  named  it  Buffalo,   on   Nolan   Creek, 
Meandering  through   the   blue   Kentucky   fields. 
Close  by  the  cabin  bubbled  one  clear  spring, 
In  cool  seclusion,  from  beneath  a  rock 
That  kept  it  ever  shadowed;    so  they  named 
The  new  place  Rock  Spring  Farm. 

And  ere  a  year 
Had  seen  the  little  family  settled  there, 
A  mystery  seemed  to  brood  upon  the  house; 
And  on  a  day  God  called  a  soul  to  life. 
And  Abraham  Lincoln  lived. 


II 


Haply  the  dawns 
That  press  their  wan  cheeks  on  the  uncumbered  hills. 
Nor  fret  upon  the  angled  works  of  men, 

i6 


Bring  yet  a  finer  essence  to  new   day 
And  bathe  the  spirit  in  a  rarer  joy 
Than  those  who  dwell  in  towns  have  dreamed  upon. 
So  loving  Nature's  compensations  keep 
Her  scales  at  balance,  and  for  us  who  seek 
To  see  in  retrospect  those  rugged  days 
In  the  gaunt  wilderness,  there  is  strange  joy 
To  think  upon  the  vigor  and  the  life 
Which  from  the  first  imbued  that  infant  form. 
And  through  the  tender  veins  of  him  whose  fate 
Enwrapt  America,  poured  vital  strength 
To  build  at  last  the  stature  of  a  man. 
Patient  the  mother  was,  as  true  the  wife. 
The  first  rude  learning  which  to  Thomas  came 
He  gained  from  Nancy's  hands.     So,  too,  the  child, 
Turning  from  infancy  at  the  mother's  knee, 
Was  taught  to  read  from  the  scant  printed  page. 
And  gathered  lore  of  holy  men  of  old. 
Ever  more  thoughtful  with  the  growing  years. 
Of  schooling  nothing  worthy  of  the  name, 
Of  preaching  little,  save  when  some  lean  man 
Came  hungry  on  his  circuit  through  the  wilds, 

17 


Pronouncing  with  thin  lips  the  Hving  word 
And  in  grim  mien  and  manner  setting  forth 
The  stern  necessity  of  struggle  here 
Or  misery  hereafter.     'Twas  as  though 
Fate  hung  a  hopeless  veil  before  the  child, 
Who  evermore  sought  shelter  in  himself, 
And  as  he  learned  to  work,  learned  also  well 
To  hoard  the  hours  for  study.     Then  there  came 
The  move  to  Knob  Creek,  and  again  the  change 
To  friendlier  soil  in  far  and  fallow  fields 
Wrung  by  hard  toil  from  Indiana's  huge 
And  overshadowing  forests.     Gentryville 
Became  the  new  abode,  forlorn  and  bare. 
A  cabin  rough-hewn,  into  whose  rude  logs 
Had  bit  the  hatchet  of  that  seven-year  boy, 
Laboring  each  day  beside  his  father,  reared 
Its  inhospitable  unlovely  shape, — 
Haply  a  shelter  but  no  whit  a  home; 
And  here  each   evening  closed   a  day  of  toil. 
Ah,    who   that   dwells   in   curtained   ease   can   know 
The  stress  of  those  stern  pioneers  whose  hands 
Wrought  out  the  miracle  of  a  Nation's  growth? 

i8 


Who,  fashioned  in  the  large  luxurious  mold 
Of  this  our  day's  prosperity,  may  dream 
How  Nature's  face  a  century  ago 
Wore  frowns  where  now  she  smiles? 

Hard,   hard  the  times. 
And  grim  the  struggle  for  existence  waged 
In  those  far  settlements,  those  outer  posts 
Where  Thomas  Lincoln  and  his  fading  wife 
Wrung  a  bare  living  from  the  grudging  soil. 
Meagre  their  fare  and  their  utensils  few. 
Their   raiment  scarce  above  the  garments   made 
By  silent  squaws  in  the  red  Indians'  tents; 
And  if  perchance  the  mother's   patient  hands 
Wrought  homespun  clothing,  'twas  for  Sunday  wear. 
Above  the  daily  uses  of  the  farm. 
So  Abraham,  the  child  of  such  hard  days. 
Grew   into  youthful   stature,   garnering   strength. 
At  night  he  sought  the  fitful  glare  of  logs 
Burning  upon  the  hearth  to  con  the  lore 
Of  Thomas  Lincoln's   Bible,   or  to  find 
In   Bunyan's  allegory  food  for   dreams. 
The  Life  of  Washington,  a  precious  part  . 

19 


Of  the  slim  stock  of  books,  was  evermore 

An  inspiration  and  an  upward  call 

To  a  soul  bent  on  duty.     Nor  the   least 

Of  these  prized  helps  to  gropings  of  the  mind 

Was  that  loved  book  of  human  tinctured  rimes, 

The  poems  of  Robert  Burns.     So  evermore 

The  earnest  bov,   after  the  hours  of  toil. 

Fed  his  young  mind  and  built  his  seeking  soul; 

And  so  the  years   sped  till  there  came   a   night 

When  Nancy  Lincoln  reached  the  end  of  care, 

And,  folding  her  thin  hands  across  her  breast. 

Whispered  a  blessing  in  her  husband's  ear, 

Looked  with  a  mother's  lovelight  in  her  eyes 

On  little  Sarah  and  on   Abraham, 

And,  with  a  sigh,  passed  out  into  the  light. 


Ill 


How  doubly  solemn  is  death's  whisper  heard 
Through  the  green  aisles,   the  lonesome   sacristies, 
Of  the  primeval   forest!      Rude  and  plain 
The  burial   of  Nancy,  with   no  word, 

20 


No  sentence  spoken,  and  no  voice  upraised 

In  solace  or  in  song.      And  Abraham  grieved 

And  brooded  long  on  such  a  sore  neglect, 

Till,   hearing  that  one   David   Elkin   rode 

To  nearby  settlements, — a  man  of   God, 

Itinerant   preacher   and   exhorter   he, — 

He  wrote  beseeching   that   some   service  meet 

Be  rendered  at  his  mother's  humble  grave; 

And  David  traveled   o'er  the  wear\-  miles 

On  horseback  to  the  cabin,   and  from  far 

About  the  countr\-  silent  neighbors  came, 

And  gathered  at  the  grave,  now  gro^\Tl  with  grass, 

Beneath   a    stately    sycamore;    and   there 

A  sermon  preached,   a  h}Tnn   sung  and  a  prayer 

Hallowed   the   ground   where   Xancy  Lincoln   slept. 

Less  prompt  the  foot  of  toil  to  meet  each  day 
The  daily  strife,  when  at  the  heart  tliere  tusrs 
The  sorrow  of  a  parting.     Yet  the  task 
Waits  not  upon  the  pleasure  of  the  man, 
And  so  the  father  and  the  son  toiled  on. 
And  little   Sarah  childishly  essayed 

21 


A   woman's   labors.     Abraham,   between 

The  hours  of  heavy  work  upon  the  farm, 

Sought  how  to  add  to  their  too  scanty  means, 

Doing  such  service  as  he  might,  perchance 

SpHtting  the   rails   for  a   far  neighbor's   fence 

Or  ferrying  some  traveler  o'er  the  stream. 

Content  with  what  he  got,   the  while  he  gave 

A  conscientious  measure  for  his  wage. 

The  quiet  evenings   were  in  study  spent; 

The  boy,   intent  on  education,   strove 

To   garner    fruitage   from   that   arid    soil. 

And  prospered   so  that   soon  the  neighbors   said 

He  had  become  the  oracle  of  law. 

At  Jones's  store  the  Solons  of  the  place 

Discussed  the  politics  of  State  and  town 

And  wrestled  with  the  problems  which  their  lives 

Made  very  real  and  earnest.      When  the  court 

At  Boonville  held  its  session,  Abraham  came, 

Listening   with   admiration   to   the   pleas, — 

Returning  to  his  cabin  then  to  dream. 

Through  the  long  silence  of  the  sombre  nights, 

Of  legal  tilts  and  tourneys  and  the  joy 


22 


Of  swaying  men  by  brilliancy  of  mind 

And  all  the  force  of  logic.      But  at  home 

There  was  scant  comfort.     Son  and  father  felt 

The  need  of  all  the  thousand  ministries 

Of  woman's   hand.      Neglected  were  the  chores 

Of  the  poor  household,  rusted  and  ill-kept 

The  homely  vessels  of  the  kitchen  shelf, 

Unmended  the  mean  clothing.      'Twas  perchance 

Rather   necessity  than   sentiment 

Which  spurred  the  elder  Lincoln  to  make  choice 

Of   Sarah  Johnson   as   a   second  mate; 

Yet  was  the  choice  most  happy,  for  she  proved 

As  noble  as  affectionate,   as  wise 

As    she   was   tender.     And   her   stepson   grew 

All   soon   to  love  her   from   a   heart  as   true 

And  crystalline  as  Nature. 

When  again 
The   struggling  family   in   fair   Illinois 
Sought  an  amended  fortune,  she  who  brought 
Her  little  store  of  household  goods  to  fill 
The  ever  pressing  needments,  carried  too 


The  sunshine  of  her  soul  to  that  far  home 

To  soften  every  hardship.      Abraham  now 

FeeHng  the  hour  had  struck  that  he  should  seek 

To  make  his  own  place  in  a  wider  world, 

Engaged  with  Denton  Offutt  to  bring  down 

A  flatboat  to  New  Orleans,   loaded  deep 

With  such  provision  as  should  find  a  sale 

In  that  great  mart.     'Twas  there  his  quick  eyes  found 

The  many   avenues   to  giant   trade; 

'Twas  there  his  nature  turned  in  sudden  shock 

To  see  the  flesh   and  blood  of  men  bid  off 

Like  chattels   at   an   auction.     With   what   mad 

Grief  and  wild  indignation  did  he  cry: 

"By  God!  if  ever  in  the  days  to  come 

I  have  the  chance  to  strike  so  vile  a  trade, 

I  shall  strike  hard!" 

Ah,   wondrous  prophecy! 
Sublime   forecast   of   a   sublime   event. 
To  give  our  wisdom  pause! 

The  country  store 
At   primitive   New    Salem   scarce   could   give 
The  inspiration  for  a  destiny 

24 


So  great  as  Lincoln  dreamed.      Yet  mid  the  stress 

Of  that  rude  Hfe  he  found  the  dreamer's  hour 

To  fashion  visions  in  his  spacious  mind. 

Then  came  the  Black  Hawk  war  with  quick  alarm 

To  summon  men  to  action,   and  he   went 

Undaunted  by  the  meagreness  of  means, 

A  poor  equipment  of  a   frontier   town. 

With  what  strange  interest  does  our  thought  revert 

To  that  rough  camp  on  the  Rock  River's  banks, — 

A  camp  which  unto  us  of  later  days 

Seems   history's   microcosm;   for   its   lines 

Enclosed,   in  comradeship  of  soldiers'   lives, 

Zachary  Taylor,  Robert  Anderson, 

Immortal  Lincoln  and — a  name  less  blest — 

Jefferson  Davis;  mounted  rangers  all. 

And  all  as  brave  as  hardy.     When  again 

A  respite  came  from  Indian  alarms. 

The  many-sided  man  put  by  his  arms 

And,  as  postmaster  of  his  little  town, 

Gave  honest  labor  for  a  meagre  wage. 


2S 


IV 


Anne  Rutledge!     What  a  perfume  seems  to  haunt 
The  syllables  of  that  mellifluous  name! 
Imagination  dwells  upon  her  face, 
And  fancy  wreathes  her  form  in  symmetry. 
Slowly  both  face  and  form  became  a  part 
Of  each  day's  dreaming  of  the  earnest  youth, 
And  Abraham   Lincoln  knew  the  deepest   love 
That  ever  in  his  heart  made  melody. 
At  night  he  glimpsed  her  eyes  among  the  stars. 
And  in  the  twilights  he  repeated  soft 
The  verses  of  a  song  which  seemed  to  hold 
The  essence  of  her  being.     But  too  soon 
Fate  passed  a  subtle  hand  across  her  brows, 
And  she  was   fallen  on  sleep  ere  yet  the  joy 
Of  love  had  reached  its   ripening. 

Lincoln    knew 
Alone  his  bitterness,  nor  made  loud  moan; 
But  those  about  him  saw  a  shadow  creep 
In   darker   emphasis   to   mark   new   lines 
And  write  its  message  on  that  virile   face; 

26 


And  ever  after  in  the  deep-set  eyes 

Dwelt  the  strange  pathos  of  an  untold  pain, — 

The  mist  of  unshed  tears. 

To  the  small  home 
Had  come  the   stealthy  tread  of   Death   to   claim 
The   cherished   form  of   Sarah,   and  once  more 
Father  and  son  looked  on  a  new-made  grave 
Beneath   the   whispering  trees. 

And  Abraham  wrought 
With  still  redoubled  vigor  at  his  tasks, 
Haply  with  hope  to  dull  the  edge  of  grief 
Upon  the  unchanging  round  of  daily  toil. 
Surveyor  was  he,  boatman,  rail-splitter, 
Builder  of  rough-hewn  cabins.      In  the  woods 
A  wielder  of  the  axe,  and  in  the  fields 
A  tiller  of  the  soil.     Yet  all  the  while 
He  delved  amid  the  precedents  of  law. 
Studied  the  commentaries, — the  debates ; 
Not  seldom  brought  the  logic  of  his  wit 
To  bear  upon  the  issues  of  some  feud 
Among  his  neighbors  of  that  countryside. 
Till  people  came  to  him  for  argument, 

27 


And  afterwards  for  justice,  and  the  folk, 

Finding  him  ever  jealous  of  the  right. 

And  all  unbending  to  mere  policy, 

Bowed  to  his  will,  and  called  him  "Honest  Abe," 

Nor   questioned   his   decisions. 

So  the  man 

Became  the  politician  in  a  sense 

Worthy  of  all  approval,   and  appealed 

To  fellow  citizens  for  proof  of  faith 

In  his  staunch  loyalty;  and  at  the  polls 

They  showed  their  faith,  and  sent  him  to  the  halls 

Of  legislation  at  Vandalia. 

So,  in  the  early  manhood  of  a  life 

Rooted  in  rugged  nature,  and  upbuilt 

Amid  the  strenuous  ways   and  days   of  toil, 

Came  Abraham  Lincoln  to  the  open  door 

Of  statesmanship.     And  we  who,  looking  back 

Down  the  perspective  of  the  vanished  years. 

May  mark  the  epochs  of  a  great  career. 

Are  conscious  of  an  exultation  born 

Of  knowledge  that  within  that  open  door 

Stood  the  sublimest  fruitage  of  the  time, 

To  adorn  the  annals  of  America. 

28 


V 


Honor  that  oft  doth  seem  too  coy  to  Hst 
The   lofty   wooing  of   a   noble   mind! 
Fame  whose  blown  hair  and  sun-illumined  eyes 
Not  always  bring  their   glory  to  the   dreams 
Of  worthiest  seekers;  ye  are  hovering  near, 
To  touch  with  eloquence  a  lagging  pen 
And  fling  new  radiance  o'er  the  historic  page. 
A  new  career  hath  opened  to  the  man 
Whose  mind  accepted  destiny  the  while 
His  hand  wrought  out  his  own. 

His   steady  eyes 
Had  fixt  their  questioning  purpose  on  the  words 
Of  prophecy  and  promise, — had  indrawn 
The  spiritual  essence  of  the   sacred  text, 
And  winnowed  meanings,    symbolisms,  truth. 
From  the  large  utterance  of   inspired  lips. 
Within  the  ample  storehouse  of  his  mind 
Were  garnered  phrases  of  an  import  rich 
In  comfort  to  the  soul,  and  through  his  heart 
The  melody  of  love,  vibrating,  kept 

29 


7 


Its   unabated   sway.     From   Avon's   source 

Of  wit  and  wisdom  flowed  the  exhaustless  stream 

Of  wide  humanity,  touched  by  the  hand 

Of  art  inimitable,   and  upon  its  breast 

Floated  rich  argosies,  which  the  seeking  mind 

Of  Lincoln  seized  and  fed  upon,   and  throve, 

So  grafting  beauty  on  the  stock  of  strength. 

That  perfect  manhood  should  at  last  bloom  forth, 

Life's  ultimate  fruit  and  flower.     His  studious  ways 

Held  him  aloof  from  many  a  social  scene, 

Yet  left  him  time  for  civic  duties,  deemed 

The   prime   commands,   laid   on   an   honest   soul. 

From  Blackstone,  Kent,  the  elementary  law 

Was  slowly  made  his  portion.      Physics  soon 

Became  his  study.     Manly,  gentle,  true, 

He  grew  to  be  the  master  of  such  speech 

As  made  him   Nature's   orator.      His   style. 

Concise  and  clear,   simple,   and  more  than  all 

Marked  with  the  Anglo-Saxon  nervous  force 

Which  makes  a  sentence  vital  and  a  phrase 

Undying. 


30 


Now  there  came  a  further  call 
To  serve  his   State  in  legislative  halls, 
First  at  Vandalia,   then  in  later  days 
At  Springfield,  whither  the  gaunt  giant  rode 
On  a  poor  borrowed  horse,  and  owning  naught 
But  saddle-bags,  three  law  books  and  such  clothes 
As  poverty  might  claim. 

His  good  friend  Speed 
Was  waiting,  and  to  him  the  traveler  came 
Asking  the  cost  of  lodging,  and,  when  told. 
Turning  in  sad  and  melancholy  plight. 
Saying:     "I   have  not  wherewithal  to  pay. 
But  if  you'll  let  me  share  your  room,  I'll  make 
My  credit  good  by  Christmas."      So  the  two 
Lived  in  the  humble  quarters,  and  the  town. 
From  that  time  forward  till  the  crowning  year 
Which  summoned  Lincoln  to  his  high  estate, 
Became  a  patriot's  home. 

Now  did   the   law 
Absorb  his  every  thought;  the  Federal  courts 
Drew  to  themselves  the  talent  of  the  State, 
Which,  sparsely  settled  with  a  hardy  race, 

31 


Yet  furnished  matter  for   continual   feud 

At  bench  and  bar.     The  court-house,   oft  of  logs 

Though   sometimes   framed  and  boarded,   bore   small 

trace 
Of  the  robed  majesty  whence  precedents 
And  legal  cues  were  drawn.     The  judge  was  placed 
Upon  a  platform  of  unsightly  boards, 
Raised  to  lend  dignity  where  oft,  alas! 
No  dignity  abode;  and  at  his  side 
The  clerks,   on   comfortless   unstable   stools; 
And  on  the  benches,  further  down  the  room. 
The  patient  jury.     It  were  hard  to  tell 
Why,  in  the  rude  and  restless  days  which  then 
Filled  out  the  passing  year,  the  people  found 
So  great  attraction   in  the  court-house,   yet 
It  seemed  the  Mecca  for  all  seeking  minds 
To  journey  to,  and,  having  found,  to  keep. 
Fitted  to  diverse  needs,  it  held  the  place 
Of  lecture  and  of  theatre,  or  the  scenes 
Of  nightly   revelry   which   Eastern   taste 
Turned  to  for  respite  from  a  world  of  work. 
Riding  the  circuit  had  its  hardships  then, 

32 


Yet  knew  its  compensations.     Oft,  perchance, 
Adventure   seasoned  travel,   and  the  men 
Who  rode  together,   making  Hght  the   way 
With  joke  and  sally,   fording  swollen   streams, 
And  sleeping  in  mean  quarters,  met  in  fierce 
And  wordy  opposition  at  the  court, 
Intent  to  snatch,   each   for  his   client,   all 
That  might  be  got  by  pleading,  or  the  wit 
To  make  a  jury  laugh. 

Such  men  were  they 
Who,  humble  then,  were  giants  when  there  came 
The  stress  and  strain  of  war.     The  names  stand  large 
On  history's  page.     Logan,  the  partner,  friend 
And  counsellor  of  Lincoln.     Douglas,  he 
Whose  burning   eloquence   was   yet   to   thrill 
A  Nation  and  touch  wide  the  fount  of  tears, — 
He  whose  supreme  invective  was  to  meet 
The  solid  sense  and  humor  of  that  man 
Who  conquered  through  simplicity.      Bissell, 
Stuart  and  Baker,   Trumbull,   Browning,   all 
Intent  to  carve  out  fortune,  though  the  world 
Stood  with  averted  face.      Now  the  campaign 

33 


1- 


Which  carried  the  first  Harrison  to  fame, — 

"Log  cabin"  hero  first,  then  President, — 

Broke  into  wordy  fury,  and  the  Whigs 

Knew  no  more  vaHant  champion  than  he 

Who  spoke  but  by  conviction,   and  so  held 

Respect  of  enemy  as  love  of  friend. 

But  not  alone  did  politics  enthrall 

Or  civic  duty  bind  him.     For  there  came 

From  Lexington   to   Springfield  Mary  Todd, 

Young,  witty,  ever  ardent  and  withal 

Disposed  to  arrogance  in  claiming  suit 

Of  many  brilliant  suitors,  and  to  her 

Lincoln  made  court;   and  soon  the  vixen   Chance 

Threw  in  the  way  of  both  the  hot-blood  youth 

Of  James  Shields,  who  found  grievance  in  a  jest, — 

A  paper  satire  born  of  Mary's  pen, — 

And  made  demand  for  satisfaction.      So 

Lincoln,   whose  chivalry  was   of  the  sort 

Which  acts  nor  mouths  its  presence,  stepped  before 

Her  anonymity,  and  bore  the  blame, 

Accepting  challenge,  and,  while  loath  to  fight, 

Refusing   naught   which   honor   might   demand. 

34 


Then   Shields  was   satisfied,   and   Mary  felt 

Her  first  light  liking  ripening  into  love 

For  one  whose  gaunt  form  held  a  knightly  soul. 

Then,  as  October  glories  turned  to  brown, 

These  two  were  plighted,  nor  postponed  for  long 

The  benediction  that  should  make  them  one. 

So,  in  the  record  of  a  great  career, 

Another   leaf  was  turned, — a  new  bright   page 

Opened  to  meet  the  seeker's  scrutiny, 

And  teach  the  lesson  of  a  life. 


VI 


What   time 
The  silver-tongued  Demosthenes  held  Greece 
Struck  into  admiration  and  dumb  awe, 
'Twas  whispered  that  the  gods  had  leaned  to  earth 
To  pour  their  miracle  of  words  upon 
The  favored  lips  of  men.      And  as  the  thrill 
Of   cadenced  eloquence  enthralled   the   souls 
Of  listening  multitudes  a  deeper  faith 
Became  the  human  dower. 

35 


'^■ 


So  to  our  land, — 
Dove-eyed  America  whose  vizor  rests 
Above  her  brow  serene, — came  now   a  voice 
To  sway  men  to  its  will.      Lincoln,   inspired 
By  loftiness  of  theme  or  righteous  cause, 
Oft  rose  to  heights  sublime.      Awkward  at  first, 
Ungainly  in  his  mien,   nor  having  care 
For  outward  accessories,  when  his  soul 
Rose  in  the  majesty  of  spiritual  power 
To  lift  the  banner   of  eternal   right. 
He  seemed  the  avatar  of  Justice,   crowned 
With  her  undying  bays.      His  attitude 
Unconsciously  took  on  a   classic  mold; 
The  lines  of  that  lean  figure  fell  apace 
Into  the   forms   of  beauty.      From   his   eyes, — 
Those  sentient  pools  wherein  strange  shadows  lay, — 
Flashed  forth  the  lightnings   of  a  noble  wrath. 
And  flamed  the  indignation  of  a  god. 
Invective  from  his  agile  tongue  poured  out 
A   withering   sarcasm,   doubly   barbed   mayhap 
By  the  scarce  uttered  jest.      The  anecdote, — 
As  coarse  perchance  as  Nature's  under  side, 

36 


Yet  like  to  Nature  strong,  unerring,  true, — 
Served  as  the  vestibule  to  temples  wrought 
To  ultimate  perfection.      To  the  jest 
So  flavored  with  the  salt  of  Attic  wit 
That  none  could  miss   its  purpose,   oftentimes 
Succeeded,  in  one  vital  moment,   words 
Fraught  with  the  pathos  of  a  woe  concealed, — 
Touched  with  the  minor   music   of  men's   tears. 
That  tall  shape,  stooping  as  at  first  it  rose, 
That  homely  visage,   as  at  first  it  turned 
Full-featured  on  a  half  believing  throng, 
Became  transfigured  until  they  who  gazed 
Visioned  a  nimbus  seeming  to  surround 
The  dark  dishevelled  hair. 

Such  was  the  man 
Who  now  brought  to  his  country's  Congress  all 
A  patriot's  fervor.     He  had  followed  close 
Upon  the  heels  of  Stephen  Douglas,   he 
Who   seemed  designed  of  destiny  to  be 
Rival  of  Lincoln  with   such  rivalry 
As  brought  undying  fame  to  Illinois, 
Which   both  claimed  as   a  mother. 

37 


In   the   House, 
As  fellow  members,  Winthrop,   Collamer, 
John  Quincy  Adams,  Andrew  Johnson,  he 
Whom  coming  years  brought  to  a  doubtful  fame, 
And  Alexander  Stephens,  whose  worse  fate 
Foredoomed  him  to   rebellion,   sat  and  oft 
Met  Lincoln  in  debate.      Here,  too,  were  Toombs, 
And  fiery  Rhett,  and  Cobb,   who  served  his   State 
Forgetful  of  his  country. 

Douglas   met, 
As  rivals   in  the   Senate,   Benton,   Dix, 
Keen  Simon  Cameron  and  Lewis  Cass, 
Grave  Daniel  Webster,  master  orator. 
And  Hale,  and  Crittenden,  and  John  Calhoun, 
And  (name  replete  with  memoried  regret) 
Jefferson  Davis. 

Through  long  strenuous   years 
Douglas,  the  leader  of  Democracy, 
Had  faced  on  many  a  field  of  hot  debate 
Lincoln,  admitted  chieftain  of  the  Whigs; 
And  now  the  Nation's  legislative  halls 
Echoed  the  rounded  phrases  of  these  two, — 

38 


One  with  a  cultured  eloquence  o'erlaid 
With  classic  lore  and  fine  historic  sense; 
The  other  finding  in  deep  human  truth 
And  apt  similitude  the  stronger  force 
To  move  the  hearts  of  men. 

Dark  seemed  the  days 
When   war   was   forced   upon   a   weaker    State 
At  bidding  of  an  oligarchy,  proud 
And  arrogant  withal.     For  slavery 
Had  cast  its  baleful  shadow  o'er  the  land, 
And  Mexico  must  at  a  nod  be  crushed 
That  the  fell  monster  might  be  further  gorged, 
And  serfdom  mar  the  'scutcheon  of  the  free. 
Lincoln  the  patriot  yielded  nothing  up 
Of  principle.     When  once,  at  Ottawa, 
Douglas  had  charged  him  with  disloyalty, 
He  answered,  with  rare  dignity  and  truth: 
"I  was  an  old  Whig,  and  when  in  the  House 
My  vote  was  sought  in  favor  of  the  war, 
I  did  refuse  to  affirm  its  righteousness; 
But  when  my  country  was  in  arms,   I  gave 
My  vote  for  grants  of  men  and  money,  ay, 

39 


^ 


For  prosecution  of  the  bitter  strife 
Even  against  a  sister  State.     'Twere  well 
To  note  the  clear  distinction  which  subsists 
Between  the  wish  to  keep  our  country  right, 
And  base  betrayal  of  her  in  the  wrong." 
The  war  with  Mexico  brought  issues  up 
Too  soon  to  lead  to  conflict.     That  small  cloud, 
No  larger  than  a  man's  hand,  was  to  grow 
Into  a  darkling  tempest.     Even  now, 
With  Taylor  president  and  party  strife 
Stilled  only  at  the  voice  of  sordid  gain, 
There  came  to  ears  not  dulled  by  platitude 
The  low  portentous  rumblings. 

To  the  man 
Who  more  than  others  had  placed  power  within 
The  hands  of  Taylor,  now  the  offer  came 
Of  Oregon's  executive  control; 
But,  with  a  wisdom  haply  not  explained. 
The  offer  was  refused.     'Twas  fated  so. 
And  when,  in  after  years,  one  said:     "How  good 
Was  the  kind  fortune  that  so  guided  you!" 
Lincoln,   with  meditative  mien,   replied: 

40 


"Yes,  you  are  right.     Through  all  my  varied  life 
I  still  have  been  a  fatalist.     What  is 
Must  be,  and  Hamlet  speaks  the  deeper  truth: 
There's  a  divinity  that  shapes  our  ends, 
Rough-hew  them  how  we  will!'     'Tis  ever  so." 
Then  to  the  deeps  of  his  far-searching  eyes 
There  came  the  dreamy  look  which  they  knew  well 
Who  best  knew  Lincoln,  and  a  silence  fell 
That  seemed  a  prophecy. 

At  Washington 
The  stress  of  politics  grew  keener  ever, 
And  for  domestic  joys  left  scanty  hours; 
Two  boys  had  blest  the  marriage,  and  were  now 
The  brightest  lights  of  home;  for  Robert  kept 
Much  of  his  father's  likeness,  and  there  dwelt 
Upon  the  brow  of  Edward  some  fair  trace 
Of  that  which  drew  all  eyes  to  Mary  Todd, 
When  from  Kentucky's  fields  to  Illinois 
She  brought  her  coronet  of  womanhood. 


41 


BOOK  SECOND 


'\ 


BOOK   SECOND 


America,  thou  whose  euphonious  name 
Is  balsam  to  the  ears  of  those  whose  love 
Is  basic  and  undying; 
Thou  whose  broad  fame 

Is  founded  in  eternal  justice,  thou 
Upon  whose  brow  the  bays  of  peace  are  lying 
With  laurel  intertwined, — to  thee  above 
All  other  mistresses  is  due  my  vow 
Of  loyalty  and  love.     What  then  must  be 

The  sadness  of  the  thought  that  thy  young  life 
Was  marred  by  discord?     That  an  envious  cloud, 
Born  of  the  lust  of  gain,  should  darken  thee 
And  bring  at  last  the  fratricidal  strife, — 

The  scarlet  scourge  of  war?     Thy  pennons  proud 
Were  doomed  to  droop,  even  in  the  freshening 
breeze 

45 


Of  thy  fair  morning  tide,  and  ever  through 
Thy  matin-song  of  Hberty  there  went 

The  mournful  minor  tones  of  bondage.     When 
The  settlers  of  Virginia,  who  knew 

The  curse  of  slavery,  besought  the  King 
To  stop  the  infamy  of  trade  in  men, 
He  did  refuse  and  back  a  message  sent 
Of  stern  rebuke.     The  fathers  of  the  Nation — 

The  men  who  later  in  their  hands  did  seize 
Freedom's  sweet  fruit, — 

Regarded  bondage  as  a  vanishing 
And  temporary  evil.     At  the  first 

And  general  congress  of  the  Colonies 
Fair  Philadelphia's  legislative  halls 
Heard  Jefferson  proclaim 

His  bill  of  rights,  holding  a  thing  accurst 
The  law  which  calls 
A  man  a  chattel.     Wide  the  proclamation 

Spread  through  the  land,  and  all  men  heard  the  bruit 
Of  abolition  that  should  free  the  name 
Of  fair  America  from  infamy. 
Later  the  old  Sun  Tavern's  storied  walls 

46 


Saw  the  formation  of  the  first 
Society  of  AboHtion,  when 
The  men  of  light  and  leading  in  the  Nation 
Banded  together  in  a  common  cause 

To  make  half-bound  America  all  free, 
And  tear  from  out  the  fundamental  laws 
That  earliest,  worst 

And  fatallest  provision.     Franklin  then 
Became  protagonist  of  freedom's  cause, 

And  Robert  ]Morris,  Patrick  Henry,  Rush, 
Immortal  Washington  and  Hamilton, 

John  Jay  and  Stiles  of  Yale, — 
The  men  whose  names  had  won 
The  veneration  of  their  kind. 

The  righteous  path  which  Pennsylvania  trod 
Was  followed  by  New  York  and  ^laryland. 
Then  by  Connecticut,  Virginia; 

Nor  stayed  New  Jersey  long  without  the  pale. 
All  recognizing  where  the  way  of  God 
Departed  from  the  King's  way. 
From  the  hand 

Of  the  great-hearted,  clear-eyed  Jefferson, 

47 


There  came  the  ordinance  prohibiting 
All  slavery  throughout  the  unbounded  West; 
'Twas   not   adopted;   had   it   been,    no    State 
Curst  with  an  institution  so  unblest 

Could  have  been  added  to  the  sisterhood. 
The  patriot's  impulse,  as  he  stands  to-day 
With  retrospective  gaze,  is  first  to  sigh: 

"Alas!  that  they  who  held  the  scales  of  fate 

Should    so    have    erred."      The    sober    second 
thought 
Brings  forth  the  deeper  wisdom,  and  we  cry: 
"Necessity  of  law  is  ever  fraught 
With  issues  which  evade  us.     If  we  could 
We  would  not  now  undo  that  past  defeat. 

Since  through  such  darkness  only  could  fate  bring 
Our  souls  to  nobler  knowledge  and  make  meet 
Our  hearts  for  sacrifice."     The  canker  sore 
Fixt  in  our  country's  vitals  could  no  more 
Be  soothed  with  balsams  into  quietude, 
But  only  by  the  rude 
And  pitiless  hand  of  unrelenting  war 
Be  reft  away  forever.     Yet  the  strife 

48 


Was  in  the  misty  distance,  and  the  love 
Of  hberty  was  spreading.     That  vast  field 
From  which  were  carved  five  future  sovereign 
States, 
Was  made  secure  to  freedom.     Far  above 
All  mere  expediency  was  set  the  star 

Towards  which  the  soul  forever  gravitates, 
The  beacon  of  all  hope,  loadstone  of  life. 

To  whose  strong  power  we  yield 
As  to  a  deity's  bright  avatar. 

From  schools  that  graced  New  England's  granite 
hills, 
From  Pennsylvania's  Quaker  righteousness, 

From  old  Virginia's  English  rectitude. 
Flowed  forth  the  stream  of  liberty  which  made 
The  revolution  real;  the  potent  ills 
Which  followed  pauselessly  in  slavery's  train, 

Debasing  freemen  as  a  contact  lewd 
Debases  virtue, — these  could  never  be 

The  vestibule  of  national  content. 
The  truth  was  recognized,  yet  soon  arose 
The  spectre  of  pecuniary  gain; 

49 


^\ 


The  cotton  gin  an  added  impulse  lent 
To  the  production  of  the  staple;  this 

Demanded  negro  labor;  from  the  slave 
Wealth  could  be  wrung, 
And  power  from  wealth,  as  flows 

A  river  from  its  source;  no  theories  grave 
Of  abstract  right  born  of  the  ethic  sense, — 

No  virtues   sung 
By  poets  whose  high  artistic  recompense 

Was  their  sufficient  guerdon,  could  outweigh 
The  call  of  selfishness;  and  so  there  grew 
An  aristocracy  of  base  intent 
Built  on  a  baser  crime.     Nor  was  the  North 
Less  guilty  than  the  South.     Though  keen  at 
first 
To  strike  away  the  shackles,  all  too  few 

Of  those  who  championed  freedom  ventured  forth 
Upon  the  sea  of  politics,  to  stay 
The  flood  which  swept  the  South. 

Men  of  the  North  were  everywhere  immersed 
In  things  commercial,  enterprises  vast, 
Building  of  railways,  opening  of  mines, 

so 


Great  irrigation  schemes  to  conquer  drouth 

And  Hnes  of  telegraph  to  conquer  space. 
There  was  no  time  to  fight  for  principle 

While  yet  ungarnered  wealth 
Lay  ready  to  the  hand,  and  so  there  fell 
A  shadow  of  indifference  which  cast 
Its   pall  upon  the  money-getting   North; 
Cotton  was  king  in   Northern   factories 

As  in  the  Southern  fields;  a  Nation's  health 
Might  suffer  so  that  mill  and  mine  gave  forth 
Their  golden  harvestings  to  enterprise. 

Then  did  the  face 
Of  Justice  darken  with  a  frown,  and  lines 
Of  sorrow  lie  upon  her  regal  brow. 

A  base  alliance  made  between  the  greed 
Of  Northern  money-kings  and  Southern  lords 
Of  a  sham  aristocracy,  arose 
To  hold  the  Nation  in  its  grip  of  steel 

And  make  the  government  a  tool  to  feed 
Rapacity  and  pride. 

The  Southern  people,  bred  to  politics, 
Grew  arrogant  and  proud,  as  those  who  feel 

SI 


Superior  power  to  organize  and  lead. 
Thus  out  of  circumstance  did  fate  endow 
The  South  with  sure  control.     The  weaker  side 
Became  the  stronger.     History  affords 

No  apter  lesson.     So  the  slave  power  grew 
To  be  the  dominant  factor,  till  there  came 
The  hand  of  destiny  to  clear  anew 

The  Country's  forehead  of  its  brand  of  shame. 


II 


Ironical  the  fate  that  in  a  land 

Sacred  to  freedom  slavery  should  hold 
High  court  within  the  capital;  yet  this 
Insult  was  ours  to  bear. 
From  the  free  soil  of  Philadelphia 

The  Nation's  seat,  removed  to  Washington, 
Became  the  citadel  of  bondage.     Bold 
And  ever  bolder  did  the  serpent  hiss 
As  shrank  the  Nation,  fearing  to  make  stand 
Before  its  closing  coils.     From  Georgia 
By  cession  came  the  land 

52 


Out  of  which  two  great  States 
Should  afterwards  evolve.     From  friendly  France 
Louisiana,  purchased,  brought  her  weight 
Of  forty  thousand  slaves. 

From  Spain  a  territory  doomed  by  fate 
To  human  chains  was  bought,  and  Florida 
Added  her  quota  further  to  enhance 
The  power  of  Southern  greed. 
Then  at  the  Nation's  gates 
Missouri  knocked,  insisting  on  the  need 
Of  that  base  institution  which  depraves 

The  souls  of  those  who  wear 
Its  galling  fetters.     With  far-searching  eyes 
Clay  saw  the  opportunity  to  check 

The  monster's  progress  Northward,  and  so  drew 
The  terms  of  the  Missouri  Compromise, 
Giving  the  state  to  bondage,  but  forever 

Prohibiting  extension  to  the  North. 
Vainly  did  Douglas  prophesy  that  never 
Should  the  vext  question  like  a  ghost  arise 

To  plague  the  country.     Yet  more  arrogant 
Grew  the  sham  aristocracy,  whose  power 

B3 


Was  based  in  that  iniquity  of  law 

Which  gave  the  master  right  to  cast  a  vote 
Proportioned  to  the  number  of  his  slaves. 
Law  never  knew 

So  strange  a  logic  as  the  people  saw 
Writ  in  the  Constitution.     Southern  cant 

Was  matched  by  Northern  failure  well  to  note 
That  slaves  were  either  men  or  property; 

If  men,  the  franchise  was  their  own  by  right; 
If  property,  no  owner  had  the  dower 
Of  ballots  based  on  wealth. 
The  people  closed  their  eyes  and  shunned  the  light 
Lest,  when  they  came  to  see, 

The  cancer  which  consumed  the  Nation's  health 
Should  grow  into  a  conflict  ending  all. 
Yet  are  the  scales  of  God  forever  true; 

No  human  judgments  may  His  ends  foretell; 
But  they  whose  vision  was  the  keenest  knew 
The  conflict  now  was  irrepressible. 
The  grasping  spirit  overreached  itself. 

Making  unrighteous  war  on  Mexico; 
And  California,  seized  for  love  of  pelf, 

54 


Became  the  seed  of  liberty.     For  lo! 
A  mighty  call 

Went  up  against  slave  labor  in  that  land 

Of  golden  promise,  and  though  Wilmot  failed 
In  his  "Proviso/'  Freedom  took  her  stand 
For  human  liberty,  and  tyrants  quailed 
Before  the  imminent  storm. 
Now   from   ten    States   were   delegations    sent 

To  Philadelphia.     Thither  Garrison, 
Phillips  and  Adams,  Clay  and  Channing  went, 
And  Whittier,  he  whose  placid  muse  had  won 
The  affection  warm 
Of  all  his  countrymen.     A  pact  was  made 

To  free  the  country's  'scutcheon  of  its  stain. 
And  to  exterminate  the  abhorrent  trade 

In  human  flesh,  which  rendered  worse  than  vain 
Our  boasted  liberty. 

Now  party  lines  were  drawn  for  deadlier  strife. 
Men    saw    the    coming    storm    with    quickened 
breath. 
While  in  the  balance  the  Republic's  life. 

Shadowed  beneath  the  brooding  brows  of  death. 
Hung   tremblingly. 

55 


Ill 


From  out  the  turmoil  and  the  deep  unrest 

A  figure  now  emerges,  and  a  mind 
That  like  an  Eastern  storied  palimpsest 
Is  brilliant  in  perception  overlaid 
With  matchless  eloquence, — a  force  refined 
In  the  white  fires  of  passion,  unafraid, 
Yet  ever  finding  in  diplomacy 
The  safest  exit  from  the  politic  snares 

That  oft  beset  ambition.     Such  as  he 
Spring  into  leadership  and  unawares 
Become  their  own  dark  Nemesis. 

The  Senate's  leaders,  Webster,  Clay,  Calhoun, 
Had  fallen  into  silence,  and  the  walls 
Which  once  had  echoed  their  euphonious  calls 
To  duty  in  the  fields  where  honor  is, 

Heard  nevermore  the  music,  all  too  soon 
Hushed  in  the  quietude  which  often  falls 
Before  the  tempest  bursts. 

To  them  succeeded,  in  the  early  prime 
Of  manhood,  Stephen  Arnold  Douglas,  he 

56 


Who  seemed  the  very  flower  of  his  time, — 
The  idol  of  the  young  Democracy. 
And  as  the  soldier  thirsts 

For  glory,  so  did  Douglas  thirst  for  fame, 
Finding  in  his  misguided  view,  the  way 
In  truculent  complaisance  with  that  same 
Insatiate  monster  whose  dark  shadow  lay 
Already  o'er  the  country  like  a  pall. 

So  when  came  Kansas  and  Nebraska,  seeking 

Their  territorial  rights, 
Douglas  cast  faith  aside,  and,  boldly  speaking 
In  favor  of  a  crime,  sought  to  wipe  all 

The  laws  that  shielded  liberty  away. 
'Twas  then  that  the  Missouri  Compromise, — 
A  solemn  obligation  made  between 

The  friends  of  freedom  and  of  slavery, — 
Was  ended  by  repeal; 
'Twas  then  the  light 

Went  out   in  Liberty's  high  citadel, 
And  sad  America's  beseeching  eyes 
Gave  up  their  dole  of  tears! 
On  such  a  day 

57 


^s 


Rose  Seward  in  the  Senate,  valiantly 
Proclaiming  to  the  sense-enthralled  throng: 
"The  struggle  which  we  now  so  keenly  feel 

Is  that  which  ever,  through  the  aging  years, 
Exists  uncrushed  between  the  right  and  wrong. 
You  may  as  soon  compel  the  heaving  sea 
To  stay  his  waves,  or  bid  the  fecund  earth 

Quench  her  internal  fires. 
As  bid  the  human  mind  forget  its  birth, — 

The  human  heart  cease  craving  liberty." 
Houston  of  Texas,  too,  refused  to  give 

His  vote  to  break  a  solemn  act  of  faith. 
And,  pointing  to  the  gilded  eagle,  cried: 
"Yon  symbol  proud  above  your  head  remains 

Shrouded  in  black,  as  it  were  now  the  wraith 
Of  murdered  justice.     Our  departed  sires, 
Whose  memories  in  our  hearts  forever  live. 
Must  from  the  higher  realms  deplore  the  chains 
We  rivet  on  the  free. 
So  faith  is  broken,  honor  crucified." 

All,  all  in  vain!     The  barriers  were  cast  down 
That  held  the  curse  of  slavery  from  domain 

58 


Over  the  North  and  West. 
Each  Southern  town 
Put  on  its  gala  dress.     In  Washington 
The  officers  of  government  wore  smiles; 
Guns  thundering  from  the   capitol's  green  hill 
Proclaimed  in  salvos  over  listening  miles 
The  triumph  of  the  slave  power, — victory  won 
At  cost  of  rectitude;  the  powers  of  ill 
Wearing  the  victor's  crown. 
Blue  Lodges,  formed  throughout  the  exultant  South, 
Sought  to  take  quick  possession,  and  extend 
To  the  new  territory  slavery's  sway; 
While  through  the  thoughtful  North,   from  mouth 
to  mouth, 
Was  passed  the  word  of  warning,  to  defend 
Free  soil  from  this  pollution.     Day  by  day 
The  lines  were  closelier  drawn.     New  England 
formed 
Emigrant  Aid  Societies,  and  soon 

Came  hardy  settlers,  taking  up  the  land 

For    farming.      While    the    foes    of    freedom 
stormed, 

59 


/x 


Its  friends  grew  more  determined  that  the  boon 
Should  not  be  lost;  and  so  the  fires  were  fanned 
To  ever  threatening  flame.     A  man  arose, — 
A  man  of  conscience,  yet  with  judgment  bent 
By  personal  wrongs, — to  lead  the  freemen  on, 
John  Brown  of  Ossawatomie;  and  those 
Who  felt  his  purpose  right  assistance  lent 
To  aid  its  consummation.     Robinson, 
Pomeroy  and  Lane,  and  many  an  earnest  soul, 
Helped  to  build  villages,  make  settlements. 
Erect  schoolhouses ;  while,  with  equal  zeal. 
The  fiery  slaveholders  sought  control 

Of  the  wide  land  from  which  the  law's  defence 
Had  been  withdrawn  through  cowardly  repeal. 
Such  was  the  bitter  struggle  now  at  hand 
For  Kansas.     On  the  side  of  slavery 
Was  all  official  influence; 

The  government  of  the  United  States 
Was  in  the  grasp  of  foemen  to  its  weal. 

From  end  to  end  of  Liberty's  own  land 
The  friends  of  Liberty  were  made  to  feel 
The  bitter  sense 

60 


Of  base  betrayal,  and  as  honor  hates 
The  stigma  of  surrender  to  a  lie, 

So  in  the  conscience  of  the  serious  North 
Sank  ever  deeper  the  compelling  thought 
That  Liberty  and  Slavery  henceforth 
Could  not  dwell  side  by  side, — could  not  be  brought 
Into  the  harmony  for  which  those  sigh 
Who  love  their  native  land. 


IV 


Now  came  the  breaking  down  of  party  lines; 
Old  issues  disappeared,  and  on  the  new 
And  vital  questions  men  divided  stood; 
Political  allegiance,  which  confines 
The  individual  action  when  the  view 

Is  unobscured  by  stressful  circumstance, 
Was  cast  aside.     The  overbearing  mood 
Of  the  slave-holding  South  was  bearing  fruit; 
The  Democratic  party  which  so  long 
Had  been  the  citadel  of  bondage,  now 

Was  rent  in  twain.     Men  of  conviction  strong 

6i 


Against  the  right  of  property  in  slaves, 
Broke  from  the  ranks,  and,  as  though  following  suit. 
The  old  ^^lligs  split,  some  seeking  to  endow 
V.'::h  ::.     t^t  of  franchise  only  those 
Bom  of  the  native  soil,  while  others  held 
To  broader  views,  though  still  insistently 

I -:  ir.ding  freedom  for  the  man  who  craves 
As  for  the  nan  who  Hamn;  it.     So  there  came 
A  new  alignment.     Human  hberty 
Zr:i~r  :he  slc^an  of  a  mighty  host 
Who  needed  but  a  leader  and  a  name. 

And  at  the  aj^inted  moment  there  arose 
In  Illinois  the  leader  and  the  name, — 

Abraha—   Lincoln,  the  RepubUcan, 
Qiosen  of  destiny  to  mold  and  weld 
The  tlm.tzLZs  diverse 
Into  the  party  that  should  come  to  be 

The  standard  bearer  in  a  new  crusade, — 
The  force  cohesive  when  the  Nation's  i'r^^Lmt 
Shonki  culminate,  and  human  passion  fan 
Hate's  embers  into  war. 
The  time  of  compromise  was  past;  the  curse 

62 


J 


Wliidi  stnmgled  i     rt  rtr 

It  I--,  iz-   5:r^:,   :r   ic  bv  fi-    :;i  z-i. 
.-\  Seeming  DiciSiEig.     —ini'-iu  nTino  uu 
But  lir.'t  '-— :-:vii  be     -  :       5   State,  cant  ::r^ 
As  frttiim's  cbanqnc—     ?r:n  rti:   ^ni  :ir 
A  st!d<iai  crv  we~:  -"-rfnTng  :.ir:_^„  die  fen-d 
T?-i:  htrt  iv-as  one  whirr  stm.-:     :i  :>.      15    -T-rn^e: 
_.. ir.   1..  die  cravT     it   rs  wtiicji  ~2:t  :    z   .   ir" 


No  history  a^rrls 
A  ksson  zirrr  asto-cndir:^.     Doi^las  came, 
WTtfa  fntult    .r  ~r":   ::    rloss  his  sfaazne 
In  forcing  the  rece^ 
Of  the  Missoari  Cooiprcsnise.     He  ":':  :rh: 

Z:.-     pt  alluf.:-     :hr   -rh-r        it:    :    -.5e, 
The  eloquence  mi  :    t      rrf.:    . :::   :     :  : 

Wliich,  in  :he  Sen j-ie,  cfr  hid  cirrlri  -hr : . 
Measures  :h  e  r " :  ~ :  ur.  ?  r  ^misa:^. 

In  rapt  E::e":    "    1  ::::  :i       Trrh   :he^ 
Readied  in  nt:er:.r.:e   f:    i:r:  _    ::.;.: 

With  feeling  and  in  logic  ??   ::~:  e:e 
That  every  aixiitcHr  was  niiie  ::   irel 


The  inherent  virtue  of  his  cause. 
The  State-house,  crowded  to  its  outer  doors, 
Was  still  as  death; 

A  burst  of  wild  applause 
Succeeded  to  the  tension,  while  each  breath 
Was  held  awaiting 

The  final  periods  of  a  speech  replete 
With  beauty  which  outran  perfunctory  praise, 
And    sense    which    forced    conviction.      Once 
again, 
When  Douglas,  at  Peoria,  sought  to  prove 

The  worse  the  better,  Lincoln,  like  the  flood 
Which  a  pent  torrent,   liberated,  pours 
Upon  the  unstable  reeds. 

Tore  from  its  roots  the  flimsy  argument, 
Till  Douglas,  crushed,  essayed  at  last  to  move 
His  adversary  to  compassion.     Thus 
Did  Lincoln  leap  to  National  renown. 
Wise  in  the  knowledge  of  his  country's  needs, 

Great  in  devotion  to  her  cause,  he  stood 
A  leader  at  the  parting  of  the  ways 

Where  friendship  and  life's  holiest  ties  were  rent, 

64 


And,  'neath  the  shadow  of  an  incubus, 

A  smihng  land  drooped  in  the  direful  frown 
Of  those  who  plucked  away  her  honored  bays. 


V 


Fraud,  slavery's  best  handmaid,  now  became 
The  means  to  rivet  Kansas  in  her  chains; 
And  at  Lecompton,  acting  in  the  name 

Of  a  free  people,  brought  about  a  sham 
And  meagre  constitution,   fastening 
The  blight   of  slavery  upon   the   State. 

Then,  in  the  righteous  anger  which  disdains 
All  compromise,  the  hardy  settlers  held 
Convention  at  Topeka,  drafting  there 

An  instrument  of  freedom,  wrought  to  weld 
Fair  Kansas  in  the  Union,  North  and  West, 
Of  commonwealths  forever  dedicate 
To  liberty  and  law. 
The  people  saw, 
And  seeing,   welcomed  the  oncoming  strife; 
Impending  battle  hurtled  in  the  air; 

6s       ' 


The  crawling  monster  stood  at  last  confest; 
And  when  the  legislature  was  dispersed 
By  force  of  arms, 
At  order  of  a  recreant  President, 
All  timorous  alarms 

Gave  place  to  a  determination,  first 
To  conquer  libert}-,  more  dear  than  life, 
Nor  ever  rest  content 

Till  Kansas  should  be  free. 
Yet  was  the  goal  far  distant.     That  great  court 
\\liich    hitherto    the    world    had    deemed    the 
august 
Tribunal  of  a  sovereign  people,  fell 

To  be  the  instrument  of  part\'  need, — 
To  bend  to  circimistance,  and  so  abort 

A  Nation's  welfare,  that  a  section's  creed 
Should  be  vnrit  in  the  fundamental  law. 

The  calm  historian,  standing  where  the  dust 
And  din  of  battle  reach  him  not,  can  tell 

With  faltering  tongue  the  ston,-  of  a  case 
Become  historic  through  the  inherent  flaw 
Within  its  reasoning: 

66 


Drti  Scott,  the  nc^;TO  slave,  the  r.trti:   -  .„-. 
Of  sale  md  barter,  now  becsjnt 
The  pivot  about  which  the  qnesrioo-  rirzLt^i 
That  5h:tiki  at  last  be  wrought  to  ^^-  —  t-z 
On  bloodv  fields  of  war.     T  •-'r   ::  iiii   ri:e. 
He  symbolized  the  shine 
Of  a  great  Xaticr.  5   rz'rz^'   -.in,   ini  fi-   tl 
For  Tanev  an  :  :5   :t  h     5   :hi:   h       :  i:t 
Which,  -   -t  yiiznt-   :f  cis—irr. 
Is  silently  assrne^l  to  those  c:n:en: 

To  sell  their  birthright  for  rewards  all  base 
And  scH^id  utterbr. 
Nor  satisfied  to  raid  wrdi  ruthless  Isiid 

The  instr.j-.en:  "hi:h  "iie  :hT  '..r.i  hs!f  frer 
This  cruel  decisir    :;.  :  rr  hs  filse  5:ir. : 
Upon  the  right  of  local  sovere  r:  v  . 
In  one  cres-in  5^11  zr^iz  e^cr.  c:~rrjiinity 
Should  make  its    :   ^ .    iecisicm  to  exchile 

Or  to  admit  :/r   5  .ve,  and  t       ; :t 

Proclaimed  the  right  of  him  whc  heli  2  ill  e 

To  take  him,  as  iiis  very  fHX^>eny, 
Into   a   Stare   whose   Ccaistitnt::-    ri' e 

6r 


That  slave  the  right  of  human  hberty. 
Then,  further  to  becloud  the  question  vext, 
These  sordid  Solons,  seeking  to  obtrude 

Their  unsought  wisdom, — turning  quite  aside 

From  what  the  case  involved,  boldly  declared 
The  law  unconstitutional  which  fixt 

A  boundary  to  the  realm  of  slavery. 
So  were  self  interest  and  false  logic  mixt 
That  people  guaranteed  untrammeled  choice, 
Found  themselves  fettered  and  without  a  voice 
In  the  most  vital  issue.     They  were  free 
So  long,  and  so  long  only,  as  they  chose 

To  keep  themselves  ensnared 
Within  the  meshes  of  the  net  which  those 
Who  hated  liberty  had  opened  wide 
To  hold  a  land  enslaved. 
So  was  the  issue  of  States'  Rights, — that  twin 
Abortion  born  with  slavery, — the  spawn 

Of  greed  and  treason, — thrust  unduly  forth, 
To  force  confusion  while  the  people  craved 
Peace  and  the  opportunity  to  win 

From  bounteous  Nature  her  unstinted  store 

68 


Of  wealth  diverse  and  splendid.     Like  the  dawn 

Touching  to  life  the  sleeping  fields,  the  North 
Had  seen  the  hope  of  a  free  country  grow 
Into  a  glorious  promise.     Now  the  light 

Seemed  dying  out  forever.     Nevermore 
Should  laughing  rivers,  all  unfettered,  flow 
Into  the  boundless  sea.     In  hope's  despite 

The  chains  were  being  forged  with  stronger  links, 
And  from  the  rostrums  of  a  sneering  world 
Scorn  mixt  with  pity  o'er  the  sea  was  hurled 
At  a  Republic  based  upon  a  lie, — 
At  Liberty  with  wrists  in  iron  gyves, — 
At  a  great  Nation  builded  on  the  claim 

That  all  men  were  born  free  and  equal,  yet 
Outraging  every  holiest  natural  tie. 
And  placing  in  unsparing  hands  the  lives 
Of  fellow  creatures, — ay,  the  right  to  maim 
And  whip  to  silence, — ay,  the  right  to  set 
Firm  lip  to  lip,  and,  like  the  storied  Sphinx, 
To  answer  nothing  to  a  people's  plea 
And  to  a  Nation's  questioning! 

Alas!  the  deeper  shame  that,  at  the  fount 

69 


Of  government,  should  dwell  the  coward  soul 

That  bends  to  arrogance.     The  Nation's  force 
Was  ever  wielded  at  the  Southern  nod, 
And  ever  quick  to  bring 

Confusion  to  the  champions  of  free 
Unfettered  toil.     The  Congress  did  not  count 
The  final  cost  of  peace  that  gave  control 

To  men  whose  theory  had  become  their  God, — 
Whose    conscience,    seared    and    deadened    to 
remorse. 
Now  made  the  worse  the  better, — made  sincere 

Their  faith  in  that  base  institution,  born 
In  love  of  power  and  the  human  greed, 

Which  seeks  the  fruitage  of  another's  toil. 
Alas!  that  in  the  chair  of  Washington 
Was  seated  now  a  weakling,  in  whom  fear 
Kept  pace  with  indecision, — the  mere  foil 
And  tool  of  stronger  men, — target  of  scorn 
Of  every  patriot  groaning  to  be  freed 

From  the  intolerable  bondage  of  a  class 

Whose  hands  had  seized  the  prize  our  fathers 
won, — 

70 


Whose  pride,   alas! 
Outran  discretion,  and  whose  final  deed 

Let  loose  the  dogs  of  fratricidal  war. 


VI 


With  what  nice  jointure,   what  unmatched  design, 

Are  wrought  the  works  of  Providence,  to  fill 
Each  one  its  destined  purpose!     To  combine 
All  friends  of  human  freedom,  that  the  will 
To  banish  slavery  might  find  the  way, — 

This  was  the  goal  now  set  before  the  eyes 
Of  earnest  thinking  men.     The  force  that  lay 
In  Sumner's  eloquence,  in  Seward's  wise 
And  witty  epigram,  and  in  the  keen 

Philosophy  of  Phillips,  Trumbull,  Chase, 
Gave  strength  to  those  who,  faltering  between 
The  love  of  peace  and  duty's  call  to  face 
A  conflict  irrepressible,  now  turned 

For  counsel  to  their  leaders.    Through  the  South 
Determination  hardened  into  hate; 

Concessions,  offered  timidly,  were  spurned; 

71 


The  administration,  speaking  by  the  mouth 
Of  a  weak  President,  had  learned  too  late 
The  lesson  of  a  government's  high  call 

To  enforce  authority.     Even  Douglas  saw 
The  pride  which  ever  goes  before  a  fall 
Rearing  its  head  too  brazenly.     The  law 

Was   being   wrenched,   and   Congress   bent  the 
knee 
To  dictatorial  masters,  who  upheld 

The  standard  of  a  Southern  chivalry 
Above  the  flag  of  freedom.     'Twas  the  hour 
For  presentation  of  the  issues.     Now 

The  people  craved  the  truth,  and  Lincoln  saw 
Letters  of  fire  writ  large  along  the  sky, — 
Letters   which   spelled 

A  word  to  thrill  each  patriot  heart,  and  dower 
Each  soul  with  courage.     So  when  Douglas  came 
To  hold  Chicago  in  the  magic  net 
Of  his  most  specious  logic,   Lincoln  met 
And  answered  him  minutely,  showing  how 

The  arguments  were  faulty, — where  the  flaw, 
And  where  the  reasoning  oft  reached  a  lame 

72 


And  impotent  conclusion.     Then  a  cry- 
Went  up  for  more  discussion.     Bloomington 
Heard  Douglas  roll  his  splendid  periods, 

And  Springfield  listened  rapt  to  words  that  won 
The  ringing  plaudits  of  a  thousand  tongues. 
And  Lincoln,  sitting  silent  'mid  the  throng. 
Was  conscious  of  a  spiritual  voice  which  blent, 
Divinely  human,   like  an  undertone 

Beneath  the  soaring  sound.     No  man  among 
The  listeners  could  guess  the  passion  pent 
Within  his  bosom,  like  a  tide  that  floods, 

But  cannot  burst,  its  boundaries.  Quite  alone 
He  sat  and  pondered.  Then,  when  evening  came. 
Within  the  capitol,  upon  the  same 

Platform  which  Douglas  in  the  morning  used, 

He  spoke,  and  on  the  listening  multitude 
There  fell  conviction  and  belief  that  fused 
All  feelings  into  one.     For  Lincoln's  words 

Were  charged  with  faith  which  bears  religion's 
stamp. 
And  each  position  in  his  argument 

Was  reinforced,  and  in  its  fulness  stood 

73 


Unanswerable.     Truth,  which  ever  girds 
The  man  who,  in  a  time  of  stress,  is  sent 

By  a  kind  Providence  to  bear  the  lamp 
Of  knowledge  to  a  people  all  confused. 
Wrapped  in  its  folds  this  leader  among  men, 

Who  came  to  rescue  Liberty  abused, 
And,  with  the  eloquence  of  voice  and  pen, 
To  rend  his  country's  chains. 

Now  followed  joint  discussion  of  the  themes 
Of  vital  moment;   first  at  Ottawa, 
Later  at  Freeport,  Jonesborough ;  again 
At  Charleston,  Galesburg,  Quincy,  Alton.     Then 
An  intellectual  battle,  which  remains 

Unique   in  history's   record,   or  the  dreams 
Of  high  ambition,  was  fought  valiantly, 
And  from  the  fray 

Victor  and  vanquished  bore  a  fame  away 
All  unforgotten  of  posterity. 

How  vivid  is  the  picture  fancy  draws 

Of  this  arena  and  the  combat   fought 
Of  these  contestants,  pleading  each  a  cause 

Dear  to  his  heart, — each  with  a  message  fraught 

74 


With  untold  consequence,  and  both  impelled 

By  knowledge  that  America  stood  still, 
With  forward  bended  head  and  breath  withheld 
The  while  the  struggle  wavered.     Stern  of  will 
And  fixed  of  purpose,  Douglas  seemed  to  be 
The  embodiment  of  large  ambitions.     Brows 
Broad  and  o'erarching  like  a  canopy 
Above  his  eloquent  eyes, — a  wealth  of  hair, 

Dark  in  its  purple  deeps, — a  mobile  mouth, 
Molded  a  lost  cause  fitly  to  espouse, 

And  on  the  battlements  of  blank  Despair 

To    plant    Hope's    banner.      From    the    amber 
South 
He  drew  the  honeyed  eloquence  that  held 

His  audience  spellbound.     From  the  sunburnt  West 
A  wafture  of  the  prairies'  breath  compelled 
The  senses  to  obedience.     His  deep  chest 

Swelled  with  emotion,  as  his  words  bore  forth 
The   message   of   his   brain.     His    short,    stout 
frame 
Vibrated,  and,  as  ever  to  the  North 

The  inerrant  needle  turns,  so  ever  came 

75 


The  argument  of  Douglas,  at  the  last, 

To  prove  a  theory  which  his  mind  held  fast, 

And  justify  a  name 
Dear  to  his  friends:     "The  Little  Giant." 

Strange 
The  contrast  which  his  adversary  bore; 

Tall,    lean,    loose-jointed;    with    a    gaze   whose 
range 
Seemed  wide  as  life's  horizon,  those  deep  eyes 
Gleamed  with  the  lambent  light, — the  cryptic  lore, — 
Of  long  forgotten  days.     No  sophistries 

Were  woven  through  the  texture  of  his  speech, 
But  over  every  argument  was  flung 
The  imsullied  garment  of  simplicity 
Which  still  reveals  the  truth. 
The  gift  to  reach 

The  common  conscience  on  his  eloquent  tongue 
Lay  ever  ready,  while  felicity 
In  illustration  drove  his  lessons  home. 

Such  were  the  giants  wrestling  for  a  prize 
Beyond  the  computation  of  a  mind 

76 


Yoked  to  material  aims.     The  compromise 

Which  one  suggested,  and  in  terms  defined. 
Was  by  the  other  deemed  the  weak  device 
To  soothe  the  cancerous  growth  which  soon  must  come 
Even  to  the  country's  vitals.     In  such  mood 
Did  Lincoln,  moved  to  seeming  prophecy, 
Quiver  upon  the  platform  where  he  stood, 
And  with  the  passion  of  conviction  cry: 
"Sometimes  I  see  the  end  of  slaver}-; 
I  feel  the  time  is  coming  when  the  sun 

Shall  shine  no  more,  nor  from  the  darkened  sky 
Shall  any  rain  fall,  on  a  single  one 
Of  all  God's  creatures  going  forth  each  day 

To  unrequited  toil." 
How  deep  the  inspiration  who  shall  say? 

Son  of  our  native  soil! 
Was  his  alone  the  vision, — his  the  way 
To  reach  the  appointed  goal? 
We  may  not  know  but  in  all  gratitude 
Be  thankful  that,  within  that  temple  rude, 
Dwelt  Lincoln's  crvstal  soul. 


77 


BOOK   THIRD 


BOOK   THIRD 


How  oft  upon  a  breathless  summer  noon 

Falls  the  faint  whisper  of  a  coming  storm, 

And,  as  the  sun  turns  to  the  waiting  \\'est 

Where  white  cloud  banks  thrust  up  their  shoulders  high 

Into  the  glow  of  gold,  a  strange,  long  hush 

Follows  the  bustle  of  the  breezes,  still 

And  ominous  as  fate,  as  though  God  held 

His  breath  a  little,  ere  he  uttered  forth 

A  word  of  high  command. 

Twas  even  so 
That  everywhere,  from  those  stone-bounded  farms 
Still  echoing  to  the  guns  of  Bunker  Hill, 
Even  to  the  warm  bayous,  the  thirsty  sands 
Where  Mississippi  ends  a  long  career, 
A  silent  menace  in  the  oppressive  air 
Seemed  dolorously  to  hush  the  lips  of  men. 

8i 


-^ 


Then,  as  the  cleavage  of  opinion  grew 

Ever  defined  more  sharply,  there  was  heard 

Another  word  in  whispers  iterant, 

More  widely  spoke  than  Slavery,  such  a  word 

As  brought  strange  joy  to  tyrant  ears,  and  filled 

The  souls  of  freedom's  lovers  with  dismay, 

A  word  of  fear, — Secession. 

Was    it    then 
In  vain  the  fathers  had  made  sacrifice 
To  weld  the  colonies,  that  into  one 
The  many  should  be  merged?     That  patriot  blood. 
Poured  out  at  Concord  and  at  Lexington, 
To  purchase  liberty,  had  made  more  dear 
Our  sacred  Western  soil? 

Alas!  the  call 
Of  judgment,  as  of  conscience,  falls  unheard 
Upon  the  ears  of  passion.     Through  the  South 
The  lightning  of  disunion  rent  its  way; 
The  cry  went  up  of  rule  or  ruin;  they 
Who  long  had  gripped  the  Nation  like  a  vise. 
Would  take  no  counsel  of  adversity, 
But,  dreaming  of  an  empire  builded  high 

82 


upon  the  fruitage  of  unrighteous  toil, — 
Puffed  with  false  notions  of  a  finer  skill 
In  politics  and  statecraft,  these  hot  sons 
Of  a  long-suffering  mother  sought  to  strike 
That  patient  mother  down.     With  what  deep  sense 
Of  anguish  did  the  loyal  North  take  heed 
Of  hastening  events!     More  sharply  drew 
The  lines  of  party.     Now  the  eyes  of  men 
Turned,  seeking  leaders;  and  as  slowly  grows 
Out  of  the  mist  a  vision,  so  there  loomed 
The  figure  of  a  man  upon  the  plains, — 
Tall,  gaunt,  untutored  of  the  schools,  yet  touched 
With  such  a  grace  of  Nature,  such  large  mind. 
As  might  befit  a  later  Moses,  sent 
To  lead  a  later  people  to  their  goal. 
Across  the  borders  of  wide  Illinois 
Floated  a  name  adown  the  Western  breeze. 
Across  Ohio,  Pennsylvania,  came, 
In  uncouth  syllables,  like  an  uttered  faith 
Half  understood,  reverberating  calls. 
Repeating  as  though  mystic  meaning  lay 
Amid  its  folds,  the  name  of  Lincoln.     Soon 

83 


^s 


A  whisper  grew  to  volume  of  a  cry; 
The  teeming  East,  till  now  but  half  aroused, — 
Grown  gross  and  all  intent  in  garnering 
The  golden  harvest  of  its  thrift, — held  out 
Appealing  hands  towards  that  vast  prairie  land 
Whose  sunburnt  face  wore  youth's  bright  smile. 

There  came 
The  call  for  a  deliverance, — for  a  man, — 
For  one  strong  soul  around  whose  constancy 
Might  group  opposing  forces.     To  that  call 
Answer  was  given;  Abraham  Lincoln  came. 
And  stood  before  the  people  of  New  York, 
Who  went  in  curiosity  to  see 
This  Western  prodigy,  this  man  of  jokes. 
Stump  speaker  against  Douglas;  he  best  known 
For  much  coarse  humor,  and  a  pretty  wit 
At  repartee  and  sally.     It  was  there 
That  Bryant  sat  presiding.     Greeley,  too, 
Half  hearted  at  the  first,  yet  growing  grave. 
As,  one  by  one,  the  records  of  the  past 
Were  from   the   storehouse  of  that  pregnant  brain 
Brought  forth  to  light  the  present. 

84 


They  who  went 
To  scoff,  remained  to  pray.     This  Western  boor, 
Rising  to  dignity,  and  swept  along 
By  the  heroic  urgence  of  his   theme. 
Soon  held  his  audience  spellbound. 

He  based  all 
On  that  great  charter  of  our  liberties 
Which,  holding  all  men  free  and  equal,  stood 
Our  bulwark  for  the  future.     It  were  vain 
To  speak  of  compromise  while  treason  sank 
Its  poisoned  fangs  and  hissed  its  hideous  name, — 
Vain  to  placate  a  people  who  had  sought 
Excuse  to  rend  the  Nation,  and  pluck  out 
From  our  bright  flag  its  stars. 

"Let    us    have    faith," 
He  cried  outstretching  a  prophetic  hand, 
"Let  us  have  faith  that  right  makes  might,  and  so 
Dare  to  do  all  our  duty  to  the  end. 
As  we  shall  understand  it." 

Struck  to  awe, 
The  people  of  that  cultured  audience  heard 
The  solemn  words  of  scholarly  and  rare 

85 


Wisdom  pronounced  by  lips  whose  utterance 

Seemed   guided   by   compelling   power   and   touched 

With  a  celestial  fire.     A  mighty  change 

Was  wrought  within  the  hour.     A  single  speech 

Swept  Lincoln  into  leadership  throughout 

The  limits  of  a  country  now  at  last 

Awakened  to  its  peril.     Wide  his  fame 

Was  carried  through  the  North,  the  East,  the  West, 

And  from  a  thousand  thousand  throats  burst  forth 

A  cry  of  exultation  that  the  hour 

Which  brought  the  crisis  also  brought  the  man. 

The  Party  which  in  Illinois  had  raised 

The  unblemished  standard  of  free  statehood,  soon 

Spread  mightily  throughout  the  land,  and  he 

Became  the  chosen  leader  of  its  vast 

And  ever  growing  ranks. 

And  all  the  while 
Secession  sentiment  took  deeper  hold 
Throughout  the  turbulent  South.     On  Breckinridge 
Fell  the  poor  mantle  of  an  erring  cause. 
While  Douglas,  claiming  faithfully  to  hold 
The  scales  of  moderation  as  between 

86 


The  advocates  of  sectional  designs, 

Raised  high  the  banner  of  his  name,  and  fought 

A  vaHant  battle  for  ambition's  goal. 

Lincoln,  supremely  conscious  of  the  weight 

Of  grave  responsibility  which  soon 

Must  bear  upon  the  Country's  President, 

Shrank  from  a  nomination  to  that  high 

And  care-encumbered  office;  but  the  call, 

Now  grown  imperious,  could  no  more  be  spurned, 

And  so,  with  this  fair  crown  of  his  desire 

Haply  within  his  reach,  he  took  the  cross 

Which  patriots  proffered,  and  became  the  brave 

Unflinching  standard-bearer  of  a  Cause. 


II 


Now  destiny,  that  leans  to  no  man's  lure. 
Leads  onward  to  the  crucial  test  of  strength. 
While  a  vast  Nation,  pausing  in  its  task 
And  daily  occupation,   shows  the  world 
A  spectacle  more  grand  than  pageantry 
And  all  the  pomps  of  war.     From  morn  till  eve 

87 


The  fateful  ballots  fall;  from  morn  till  eve 
A  mighty  people  waits  with  quickened  breath 
The  issue  of  a  peaceful  struggle  fraught 
With  war's  grim  possibilities.     At  last 
The  end  is  reached.     The  country  solemnly 
On  Abraham  Lincoln  lays  the  accolade 
Of  its  supreme  command.     And  he,  bowed  down 
With  weighty  sense  of  that  great  burden,  lifts 
Eyes  sanctified  by  tears  towards  Heaven,  whose  smile 
Seems  shadowed  by  the  clouds  of  Earth's  despair. 
Yet  now  a  gleam  of  hope  o'er  Northern  skies 
Breaks  to  the  glory  of  a  sunburst.     Through 
The  nerves  of  patriot  freemen  thrills  the  fine 
Vibration  of  a  coming  action,  filled 
With  promise  of  deliverance,  and  at  last 
Assertion  of  a  manhood  long  betrayed. 
The  breaking  of  the  bonds  of  shameful  fear. 
Nor  at  the  North  alone  is  the  result 
With  satisfaction  hailed.     The  Southern  men 
Who  once  made  slavery  their  sole  excuse 
For  a  long-lost  allegiance,  now  come  forth 
In  colors  honester,  and  wide  proclaim 

88 


Their  final  goal  disunion.     They  rejoice 
That  the  election  of  a  free-soil  man, — 
Choice  of  an  "abolition  President," — 
Should  furnish  specious  reason  for  the  step 
Long  dreamed  of  and  desired. 

And  so  begins 
The  stress  and  struggle  of  a  contest  meant 
To  pluck  at  last  a  righteous  victory. 
In  hate's  despite,  and  so  to  bind  thy  brows, 
O  Land  of  our  affection,  with  new  bays. 

Ah,   proud   fond   mother,    rended   of   thy   sons; 
Ah,   bleeding   mother,   whose   mute   wounds   betray 
More  eloquently  than  all  spoken  words 
Thine  offspring's  black  ingratitude!     What  tongue 
Shall  fashion  thought  to  utterance,  or  bear 
To  hearkening  ages  knowledge  of  the  wrongs 
Which  mark  thy  base  betrayal? 

In   the   halls 
Reared  for  thy  uses,  stalks  Conspiracy, 
And  damned  Treason  slinks  along  those  aisles 
Once  trodden  of  patriot  feet.     Thine  arches  now 

89 


^ 


Resound  with  blatant  threats,  where  once  was  heard 
The  echoed  eloquence  of  Henry  Clay, 
Or  Webster's  organ  tones.     Buchanan  sits, 
Palsied  and  puerile,  in  the  seat  made  great 
By  Washington  and  Jefferson,  and  all 
The  sources  of  thy  power  are  sapped  away 
By  traitors  under  cover  of  the  dark. 
Within  the  Cabinet  are  men  intent 
To  compass  thy  undoing, — to  disarm. 
And  so  make  impotent  thy  battlements. 
And   rive   thee  of   thy  strength.     The   ship   of   State 
Must  be  dismantled  ere  its  flag  be  struck 
At  bidding  of  the  foe.     A  Memminger 
Boasts  openly  that,  with  a  pliant  tool 
Within  the  White  House,  all  is  easy  now 
To  crush  the  Federal  government,  and  make 
All  Lincoln's  efforts  futile.     From  the  vaults 
Of  a  depleted  treasury  are  drawn. 
And  used  improvidently,  funds  whose  care 
Devolved  on  Howell  Cobb.     From  each  free  State 
And  from  the  Northern  arsenals  are  sent 
Arms  and  munitions  to  the  rebel  South, 

90 


That  so  the  nerves  of  war  may  be  at  hand 

To  strike  the  power  that  made  them.     Floyd,  alert 

To  serve  Secession,  bears  a  brazen  brow 

Beneath  his  crown  of  shame,  and  scatters  wide 

The  soldiers  of  the  country  to  far  posts 

And  distant  reservations;  while  the  ships, 

Making  at  best  a  feeble  navy,  go, 

At  order  of  a  Toucy,  well  beyond 

The  reach  of  sudden  call. 

And  all  the  while 
Each  traitor,  boasting  of  his  "honor,"  draws, 
With  promptitude  punctilious,  his  pay; 
Each  arch  conspirator  goes  up  and  down 
Demanding  mileage,  salary  and  all 
The  perquisites  which  a  too  generous  land 
Gives  to  a  ruthless  horde. 

Ah,  strange  indeed 
The  spectacle  of  government  in  hands 
Intent  to  overthrow  it!     Davis,  Cobb, 
Toombs  and  their  co-conspirators,  each  day 
In  conclave  plot  high  treason,  and  each  day 
Draw  sustenance  from  that  fond  mother's  breast 

91 


Against  whose  heart  their  poniards,  ready  drawn, 
Long  to  strike  home.     A  nice  diplomacy- 
Marks  every  step  of  the  recusant  States. 
One  after  other,  legislatures  pass 
Secession  ordinances.     One  by  one 
The  Southern  Representatives  withdraw, 
Leaving  the  trail  of  treason  in  their  wake. 
Thus  while  events  are  crowding  fast,  and  faith 
Half  falters  even  in  Northern  hearts,  the  stern 
Imperious  call  to  duty  thrills  the  soul 
Of  that  unmatchable  American, 
Who,  standing  on  the  dark  brink  of  a  chasm, 
Pales  not,  but  bends  his  shoulders  to  the  task 
Which  graves  its  deepening  lines  across  his  brow. 


Ill 


Anderson  of  old  Kentucky, — 
Born  and  bred  in  old  Kentucky, — 

Prated  little  of  his  "honor," 
Cared  as  little  for  his  life. 
He  was  of  the  stuff  of  heroes, 

92 


(Anderson  of  old  Kentucky,) 
With  a  soldier's  intuition 
That  surrender  of  position 
At  beginning  of  the  strife 
Scarce  could  be  considered  plucky, 

Though  expectant  Southern  Neros 
Dreamed  of  fiddling,  while  sedition 
Through  a  wounded  land  was  rife; — 
Deemed  this  man  exceeding  lucky, 
(Anderson  of  old  Kentucky,) 

That  he  had  a  rare  occasion 
To  be  loyal  to  the  South; 
Loyal  to  a  section  merely. 

Though  betraying  by  evasion 
What  all  true  men  love  most  dearly, — 
God   and   country!     Treason's   mouth 
To  the  man  of  old  Kentucky, 
(Anderson  of  old  Kentucky,) 

Whispered  words  beneath  its  breath. 
Then  the  War  Department  sent  him 
Where,  in  Aloultrie,  rebels  pent  him. 
While  around  the  soldier  plucky, 

93 


(Anderson  of  old  Kentucky,) 

Cannon  threatened  death. 

Floyd,  who  prated  much  of  "honor," 
Thought  it  no  disgrace  to  strip 

Arsenals  of  war  munitions, 
Armories  of  arms, — to  slip 
Through  the  War  Department's  portal 
Stores  to  Southern  States,  to  be 

Ready  for  the  new  conditions 
Of  the  war  which  slavery 
Had  at  last  made  certain,  mortal, 
Too,  perchance,  for  one  or  both 

Of  the  stern  contestants,  waiting 
For  the  signal,  haply  loath 

First  to  strike,  and  ever  hating 
Thought  of  bloodshed  in  the  land. 
And  Floyd,  thinking  he  was  certain 
Of  a  willing  quick  compliance 
By  the  man  of  old  Kentucky, 
(Anderson  of  old  Kentucky,) 

Sent  him,  in  the  firm  reliance 

94 


That  when  time  should  Hft  the  curtain 

On  the  drama  of  the  war, 

He  would  yield  the  fort's  possession 
To  the  forces  of  Secession, — 

Yield,  nor  strive  to  stand 

Firm  against  the  South's  defiance 

And  the  cannon's  roar. 

Three  score  men  and  five  in  Moultrie, — 
In  outworn,  decrepit  Moultrie, — 
Spent  the  Christmas  making  merry 
Though  the  time  was  full  of  dole. 
Came  an  order  on  the  morrow 
From  the  man  of  old  Kentucky, 
(Anderson  of  old  Kentucky,) 
Silently  supplies  to   ferry, — 

Silently,  as  though  in  sorrow. 
Men  and  arms  in  boats  to  carry 
Off  to  Sumter,  when  the  sun 
Should  be  setting.     Every  soul 
Then  embarking  from  Fort  Moultrie, — 
Outworn  and  decrepit  Moultrie, — 

95 


Passed  the  guard-boats  in  the  harbor, 
Passed  the  gates,  nor  sought  to  tarry 
Till  the  destined  goal  was  won. 

Then  when  Charleston,  on  the  morrow, 
Woke  to  find  the  fort  deserted, — 
Realized  the  plan  concerted, — 
There  was  anger  far  and  near; 
And  as  over  Sumter  floated 

Free  the  flag  of  starry  beauty. 
Five  and  sixty  men  devoted 
Raised  a  long  and  lusty  cheer 
For  the  man  of  old  Kentucky, 
(Anderson  of  old  Kentucky,) 

He  who  knew  a  soldier's  duty. 
Never  knowing  fear. 


IV 


How  sad  the  closing  in  of  night,  the  slow 
Departure  of  the  faint  glow  of  the  sun 
Which  once  had  lit  Hope's  day! 

96 


From  patriot  hearts, 
Both  North  and  South,  belief  that  some  fair  way 
Would  yet  be  found  for  peace,  died  sorrowfully, 
And  in  the  place  of  soothing  and  of  scorn, — 
From  the  great  North  concession, — from  the  South 
Insistence  upon  mastership, — there  grew 
Determination,  on  the  one  hand,  now 
To  save  the  Union,  though  salvation  meant 
War's  ravages  and  ruin;  on  the  other, 
To  fight  for  statehood  and  perpetual  right 
To  slavery  and  secession.     Boastfully 
The  cry  went  forth:     "They  will  not  dare  attempt 
Coercion  of  the  South,"  while  through  the  North 
Rang  out  bold  words,  wherein  the  wish,  perhaps. 
Was  father  to  the  thought:     "They  will  not  dare 
To  fire  upon  the  flag."     And  we,  who  stand 
To-day  upon  the  parapet  of  time, 
Through  history's  perspective  see  that  both 
Boast  and  belief  were  idle.     For  behind 
Each  stern  assertion  lay  the  stalwart  will 
Of  manhood  that  was  all  American, 
Though  for  the  moment  severed.     It  were  well 

97 


^ 


To  ask  where,  in  this  mental  crisis,  stood 
The  man  about  whose  personaHty 
All  history  seemed  to  turn.     The  primal  call 
For  ultimate  justice,  equity  exact, 
Was  Lincoln's  high  incentive.     To  his   soul 
The  thought  of  human  bondage  was  replete 
With  all  that  is  abhorrent.     To  his  mind 
A  free  Republic  built  on  Slavery 
Was  a  political  monstrosity 
Self-doomed  to  sure  destruction.     Yet  he  saw 
With  Southern  eyes  a  Southern  problem.     Here 
The  Institution  had  fixed  firm  its  roots 
In  a  too  pliant  soil.     No  abstract  plea 
Could  justify  a  stealage,  or  make  right 
The  confiscation  of  the  property 
Of  citizens  protected  by  the  law. 
He  deprecated  with  his  utmost  force 
The  thought  of  setting  free  the  slaves  without 
Just  compensation  to  the  owners,  ay. 
Payment  in  fullest  measure.     Let  the  loss 
Thus  incidental  to  a  righteous  act 
Be  borne  by  all  the  Nation,  not  alone 

98 


By  those  whom  circumstance  had  caught  within 
The  meshes  of  its  net.     To  buy  the  slaves, 
To  free  them,  to  give  back  the  precious  gift 
Of  individual  liberty  vouchsafed 
To  every  being  by  the  Almighty, — this 
Was  Lincoln's  lofty  dream.     He  recognized 
The  difference  in  the  races;  that  the  black, 
Inferior  in  development,  could  not. 
And  should  not,  ever  occupy  the  plane. 
Of  the  Caucasian.     He  renounced  with  ire 
Social  equality  of  white  and  black, — 
Renounced  it  as  abhorrent  to  the  sense, 
And  fatal  to  the  good,  of  both.     His  plea 
Was  but  for  liberty,  the  human  right 
To  universal  manhood,  and  the  dower 
Of  nature  to  her  children.     From  the  hour 
When  first  he  saw  a  slave  upon  the  block 
Being  bartered  as  a  chattel,  his  great  soul 
Turned  sick  with  loathing,  and  his  whole  career 
Was  molded  by  the  love  of  freedom.     Now, 
When  the  impending  crisis  loomed  above 
The  bent  heads  of  a  mighty  people,  dark 

99 


And  ominous  as  fate,  the  vision  changed, 

And  the  immediate  necessity 

Pressed  on  him,  till  upon  his  heart  was  writ, 

As  Calais  upon  Mary's,  one  sole  phrase — 

To  save  the  Union.     Question  of  the  slave 

Must  for  the  time  be  put  aside,  to  wait 

The  working  out  of  evolution's  law. 

'Twas  Lincoln's  task  to  save,  at  any  cost. 

The  fabric  builded  by  our  fathers'  hands, — 

Cemented  in  the  blood  of  patriot  sires. 

Such  was  his  aspiration,  and,  with  faith 

Firm  fixt  in  God's  omnipotence,  he  bent 

His  shoulders  to  the  wheel,  while  'round  him  grouped 

The  loyal  manhood  of  America. 

And  feeling,  still  divided,  seemed  to  grow 

Daily  more  constant  in  his  constancy. 

Now,  in  convention  at  Montgomery, 
A  form  of  government  was  made  to  clothe 
Rebellion  in  the  garments  of  the  law; 
And  Davis,  whose  ability  was  seared 
By  such  vindictiveness  as  rarely  mars 

100 


An  intellect  like  his,  was  chosen  chief 

Of  a  great  people  greatly  borne  away 

Upon  the  tide  of  passion.     Solidly 

The  people  were  Secessionists.     Not  so 

In  Texas,  where  the  love  of  country  held 

Its  sway  in  many  hearts.     'Twas  needful  there 

To  cozen  fraud  and  turn  to  treachery, 

Buying  the  doubtful  voters,  and  at  last 

Forging  the  ballots  which  forced  Texas  out 

And  tore  her  from  her  moorings.     One  more  shame, 

One  more  humiliation,  to  bow  down 

The  head  of  scorned  America!     Her  forts, 

Her  arsenals  and  ammunition,  all 

Were  at  the  bidding  of  a  mob  self  styled 

A  Sovereign  State,  surrendered  tamely,  while 

The  lone  star  flag  rose  in  the  air  above 

The  banner  of  the  Nation;  and  the  troops, 

Lacking  a  leader  with  a  soldier's  heart. 

Marched  heartless  and  unsoldierly  away. 


lOI 


V 


Plots  dark  and  counterplots.     No  man  might  know- 
Where  the  assassins  lurked  intent  to  strike 
The  standard-bearer  down.     The  boast  was  heard 
That  he  whose  great  commission  bore  the  seal 
Of  an  untrammeled  people  should  not  live 
To  execute  their  will.     And  as  the  time 
Drew  near  for  Lincoln  to  assume  the  robes 
Of  his  high  office,  deep  anxiety 
Oppressed  all  loyal  hearts. 

Almost  by  stealth 
The  coming  President  was  hurried  through 
The  towns  and  cities  which  should  most  have  vied 
To  do  him  honor.     And  when,  on  the  eve 
Of  his  inauguration,  Lincoln  stood 
Among  Americans  within  the  gates 
Of  the  American  Capital,  he  felt 
A  sense  intuitive  of  threatening  clouds 
Which  lowered  like  a  pall.     Then  came  the  day 
That  ushered  in  an  epoch  big  with  fate. 
About  the  East  front  of  the  capitol 

102 


The  functionaries  of  a  government 
Upon  the  brink  of  ruin  gathered  where 
Successive  Presidents  had  solemnly 
Taken  the  oath  of  office.     In  the  throng 
Stood  Seward,  he  whose  statesmanship  o'ertopped 
The  crafty  efforts  of  his  adversaries; 
And  Chase,  with  such  a  presence  as  proclaimed 
The  noble  mind  intent  on  noble  aims. 
Firm  and  erect,  the  venerable  Scott 
Watched  with  a  soldier's  eye  the  pageantry, 
The  while,  above  his  white  and  shaggy  brows. 
The  anxious  lines  seemed  deepening  one  by  one. 
For  guileful  treason  had  nigh  reft  his  hands 
Of  every  shard  of  military  strength, 
And  now,  when  from  the  Nation's  capitol 
A  prayer  was  offered  to  the  Nation's  God, — 
When  the  mild  sceptre  of  democracy 
Passed  from  a  weakling's  coward  hand  to  meet 
The  firm  grasp  of  a  man, — there  were  but  few 
Trained  soldiers  to  be  mustered  for  a  need, 
A  handful  gathered  by  the  vigilant  Scott, — 
Militia,  regulars, — a  scanty  band 

103 


To  do  a  mighty  duty.     On  the  stand 
Was  Taney,  whose  soiled  ermine  ill  became 
The  administrator  of  a  solemn  oath. 
The  scholar  Sumner  and  the  student  Wade 
Were  near  Buchanan,  with  his  courtly  mien 
And  all  uncourtly  spirit;  while  in  front 
Stood  the  persuasive  Douglas,  tactfully 
Reaching  his  hand  to  hold  the  hat  of  one 
Erstwhile  his   adversary,   and   in  doing  so 
Imparting  to  a  menial  act  the  grace 
And  dignity  of  knighthood.     From  the  crowd 
Gleamed   eyes   whose   light   of   hate   was   ill   concealed 
By  an  assumed  indifference.     No  man  knew 
Whose  soul  was  loyal  or  whose  heart  was  hot 
With  treason's  smouldering  fire.     The  air  was  charged 
With  coming  tempest;  and  that  strange  unrest, 
Half  manifest  in  inarticulate  sound, — 
The  voiceless  bruit  and  menace  of  a  crowd, — 
Hung  as  the  sultry  breath  of  summer  hangs 
Before  the  lightnings  of  a  rended  sky. 
Facing  the  winds  of  gusty  March,  were  men 
Long  trained  at  foreign  courts,   the  diplomats 

104 


Whose  sophistry  was  soon  to  meet  the  sense 
Of  one  whose  soul  was  riveted  to  truth, 
Nor  knew  evasion.     Here  were  patriots,  too, 
Waiting  the  word  of  him  who  came  to  lead 
A  people  out  of  bondage;  and  here,  too. 
Were  rebels  panting  to  unloose  the  leash 
Which  held  the  dogs  of  war. 

And,  towering  high 
In  that  rude  majesty  which  ever  wraps 
The  prophet  like  a  mantle,  Lincoln  stood. 
And  with  uplifted  hand  and  humble  heart 
Made  oath  before  the  throne  of  God,  and  took 
Upon  his  valiant  soul  a  people's  woes. 
Where  in  the  storied  pages  of  the  past 
Is  writ  the  record  of  a  mightier  scene? 
And  where  among  the  uttered  words  of  men 
Is  found  the  pathos  of  a  plea  so  deep 
As  fell  from  those  lips,  trembling  with  the  touch 
Of  patriot  zeal  and  yearning? 

"Ah!"  he  cried 
"My  fellow  countrymen,  men  of  this  soil. 
Take  heed  lest  passion  lure  you  to  despair. 

105 


This  country  with  its  institutions,  all 
The  blessings  that  our  Heavenly  Father  showers, 
Is  yours,  the  heritage  of  you  who  live 
Amid  its  hills  and  vales.     Oh,  let  there  be 
No  bloodshed  to  make  horrible  the  green 
Of  its  inviolate  fields.     With  all  the  strength 
Within  my  being,  I  beseech  you  pause, 
Ere  on  the  altar  of  our  common  land 
You  lay  destroying  fingers.     North  and  South, 
We  all  are  one;  we  cannot  separate. 
Take  time  to  think;  there  can  be  nothing  lost 
By  that  delay  which  but  insures  the  right. 
It  has  been  said  that  peace  and  property 
Throughout  the  South  are  menaced  by  the  turn 
That  brings  a  new  Executive;  'tis  false! 
I  say,  as  often  I  have  said  before, 
There  is  no  purpose, — no  intent,  direct 
Or   indirect, — to  interfere  with  that 
Peculiar  Institution  of  the  South, 
Within  the  States  where  now  it  does  exist. 
I  have  no  lawful  right  to  interfere, 
Nor,  if  I  had  the  right,  have  I  the  will. 

1 06 


Out  of  my  heart  I  ask  for  your  belief, 

You  who  are  still  dissatisfied.     With  you 

Must  rest  the  issue  of  momentous  war; 

The  government  will  not  assail  you,  nay, 

Will  strain  all  patience  to  the  utmost  test 

Ere  plunging  into  conflict.     Pray  you  mark, 

You  have  no  oath  recorded  in  high  heaven 

To  break  up  and  destroy  the  government. 

But  I  have  registered  before  my  God 

An  oath  to  still  maintain  it.     We  are  friends; 

We  cannot,  must  not,  be  estranged.     The  ties 

Which  bind  us  are  unbroken.     Mystic  chords 

Of  memory,  stretching  forth  from  patriot  graves 

And  far-off  battlefields  to  living  hearts 

And  hearthstones  over  all  this  teeming  land, 

Will  yet  the  chorus  of  the  Union  swell. 

When  touched  again,  as  surely  they  will  be. 

By  better  angels  of  our  nature." 

So 
Lincoln  the  martyr  closed,  his  frame  convulsed, 
His  high,  ungainly  shoulders  bended  down. 
Like  Atlas  bearing  an  ungrateful  world. 

107 


Above  his  forehead  leonine  massed  hair 

Hung  as  the  aureole  of  a  god  in  pain; 

And  from  the  fountains  of  those  earnest  eyes 

Welled  up  the  guerdon  of  unbidden  tears. 

Then,  for  the  answer  to  his  high  appeal, 

A  ribald  sneer  ran  through  the  listening  throng; 

A  thousand  throats  sent  forth  a  jeer,  that  told 

The  hate  of  treason  grown  most  insolent. 

And  Lincoln's  mouth  turned  sadder  for  a  smile 

More  pitiful  than  weeping,  and  he  held 

Outward  his  toil-worn  hands.     And  from  the  crowd 

Came  back  the  answer, — ribaldry  and  jeers. 


io8 


BOOK    FOURTH 


BOOK   FOURTH 


"Within  an  hour  we  open  fire."     The  words 
Were  Beauregard's  last  message  to  the  man 
Shut  Hke  a  soHtary  sentry  left 
To  hold  a  gate  forlorn.     The  answer  came, 
Prompt,   firm,  decisive;  fearlessly  as  though 
The  grizzled  soldier,  whose  scant  garrison 
Made  a  defense  but  mockery,  held  power 
To  countervail  attack:     "We  will  not  yield." 
And  even  while  the  sun  with  later  ray 
Kissed  the  upswelling  folds  of  that  dear  flag 
Whose  stars  wrote  liberty  against  the  sky. 
The  hour  sped  by,  and  over  Charleston's  bay 
There  roared  the  summons  to  a  million  sons 
To  strike  for  God  and  country,  roared  the  doom 
Of   blatant   treason   arrogant   and   blind; 
And  as  the  echo  of  the  first  gun  died, 

III 


<N 


Hope  fled  with  mobled  head,  and  Fate  cried  out 
The  sentence  of  a  desolated  South, 
And  all  the  woes  of  ruin. 

"They  have  dared 
To  fire  upon  the  flag!"     So  through  the  North 
Leaped  the  wild  words  that  made  a  people  one, — 
Rang  out  the  clarion  call  to  loyal  hearts 
To  put  aside  all  controversies,  fears; 
To  spurn  the  dalliance  with  a  honeyed  peace, 
And  set  stern  faces  to  oncoming  war. 
And  even  as  the  sturdy  Anderson 
Endured  the  pounding  of  the  rebel  shells, — 
Even  as,  one  by  one,  his  magazines 
Rent  with  expiring  crashes  the  soiled  sky, 
Through  every  hamlet  of  an  outraged  land 
Thrilled  the  determination,  now  at  last, 
To  strangle  treason,   and  with  pitiless  hand 
To  crush  the  hissing  serpent  which  had  grown 
To  vile  maturity. 

Now  with  strong  thews 
The  newly  wakened  giant  bends  to  lift 
The  burden  on  his  shoulders.     Nerves  of  steel 


112 


Quiver  along  a  Nation's  rounded  limbs, 
And  thrill  with  agony  so  near  delight 
That  pain  is  lost  in  ecstasy. 

"The  flag! 
The  flag  is  fallen  at  Sumter!     Now  by  God! 
These  men,  who  were  our  brothers,  are  our  foes. 
These  faithless  children  of  our  mother's  womb, — 
These  beings  who  preached  honor  while  they  stole, 
And  whined  of  loyalty  even  as  their  hands 
Were  steeped  in  treachery,  and  through  the  dark 
Groped  to  strike  dastard  blows, — these  are  henceforth 
The  common  enemy." 

From  Maine,  whose  front 
Faces  the  silent  sunrise,  to  the  sands 
That  welcome  evening  in  the  Golden  Gate, 
Such  words  and  such  avowal  sweep  abroad 
To  render  action  vital.     And  amid 
The  seething  and  commotion,  one  great  soul 
Remains  serene,  though  bent  with  sadness  down; 
Continues  self  contained,  though  bowed  before 
The  coming  desolation  and  the  woe. 
Lincoln,  whose  anguished  heart  felt  every  pang 

113 


Inflicted  on  his  bleeding  country,  fears 
Nor  falters  not  at  all.     His  call  goes  forth 
For  men,  for  means,  for  loyal  hearts  to  serve. 
And  from  the  hills  and  valleys  of  the  land 
Comes  such  response  as  only  they  may  know 
Who,  in  the  crisis  of  a  Nation's  life, 
Have  marked  a  Nation's  power.     Ere  the  call 
Has  echoed  backward  from  New  England  hills. 
The  streets  of  Boston  throb  beneath  the  tread 
Of  Butler  and  his  regiments.     New  York 
Springs  to  her  arms.     From  Pennsylvania,  quick 
To  save  the  capital,  the  first  troops  pour 
Into  defenceless  Washington.     And  where 
Ohio  spreads  her  sunlit  fields,  upspring 
Insistent  thousands,  begging  for  the  right 
To  serve  their  country.     An  upswelling  cheer 
Greets  the  first  bugle  call.     For  every  man 
That  Lincoln  calls  for,  ten  demand  the  chance 
To  serve  beneath  the  colors  so  disgraced 
And  flouted  at  Fort  Sumter. 

Up   and   down. 
Through  cool-aisled  forests  and  lone  country  roads, 

114 


O'er  meadows  greening  in  the  April  sun, 

Amid  the  roar  of  bustHng  city  streets 

And  clack  of  mill  and  factory,  floats  the  lilt 

And  loyal  melody  of  such  a  song 

As  patriot  hearts  conceive  and  bring  to  life: 

"We  are  coming.  Father  Abraham, 
Six  hundred  thousand  strong." 

What  though  Kentucky  fall  to  insolence, 
And  Tennessee  refuse  her  helping  hand? 
What  though  ^lissouri  seek  to  turn  her  back 
On  that  which  her  best  citizens  revere? 
Twere  easier  to  bear  these  shafts  than  see 
The  sad  decadence  of  A'irginia, 
Mother  of  old  time  chivalry.     And  thou 
Fair  ^laryland,  how  hope  and  fear  by  turns 
Usurp  our  thoughts  of  thee! 

\\'ere   it   well   done 
When,  through  the  sullen  streets  of  Baltimore, 
The  men  of  Massachusetts  marched  to  reach 
The  country's  capital,  that  thy  false  sons 

115 


•^ 


Should  play  assassin,  and  all  cowardly 

Seek  to  shoot  down  the  patriot  soldiers  sent 

To  do  a  patriot's  duty?     Ah,   no,   no! 

Yet  thou  art  saved  at  last,  my  Maryland, 

And  still  remain'st  an  unextinguished  star. 

The  South,  whose  hand  hath  cut  the  golden  thread 

Which  bound  our  hearts  in  love,  no  more  holds  place 

Within  Hope's  citadel.     Alas!  the  line, 

Once  but  imaginary,  now  hath  grown 

To  be  a  yawning  chasm.     The  Nation's  ships 

Blockade  the  Southern  ports;  the  Nation's  troops 

Pour  to  the  Southern  border.     From  the  staffs, 

Even  at  the  gates  of  Washington,  there  flies 

The  flaunting  symbol  of  black  treason,  bold 

To  rear  a  head  defiant.     'Twas  reserved 

For  one  brave  man's  strong  hand  to  tear  it  down, 

And  so,  at  Alexandria,  to  yield  up 

A  brave  man's  life. 

'Twas   thus   that   Ellsworth  came 
To  win  the  splendor  of  a  patriot's  grave. 
And  garner  fame  immortal,  garnering  death. 


ii6 


II 

Galloping,  galloping  over  the  Southland, 

Horses  as  eager  as  riders  for  battle, 

Guns  jarring  heavy  on  lumbering  caissons. 

Chains  tugging  hard  at  the  rings  of  the  traces; 

Up  and  down,  up  and  down  through  all  the  Southland, 

Men  pouring  into  the  filling  battalions, 

Companies  forming  and  coming  together. 

Tallied  off  quickly,  compacted  to  regiments; 

Thousands  on  thousands  of  men  from  the  cotton  fields, 

Led  into  line  by  the  broad-hatted  planters, — 

Planters  long-haired  and  unkempt,  but  with  glittering 

Eyes,  that  shed  forth  the  red  glow  of  the  smouldering 

Fires  in  their  bosoms! 

From  old  Virginia 
Comes  the  loud  call  to  erect  a  new  nation, — 
Comes  proclamation  that  Richmond  is  chosen 
Capital  city  of  slavery's  stronghold, — 
City  whose  halls  shall  henceforward  be  dedicate 
Unto  the  uses  of  such  a  confederacy. 
Made  up  of  sovereign  States,  as  men  of  Southern  blood 
Long  have  dreamed  fondly  of. 

117 


And  ere  the  first  demand 
Made  on  the  elder  lands,  crosses  the  ocean, 
Friends   of   America, — friends   in   prosperity, — 
Turning  to  foes  at  the  strife's  earliest  echo, 
Make  preparation  for  prompt  recognition; 
Hasten  to  stultify  former  professions 
Of  faith  in  the  human  endowment  of  liberty. 
Hatred  of  slavery,  blot  on  America's 
Blazoned  escutcheon;  hasten,  almost  ere  asked, 
Willingly  aid  to  grant,  granting  belligerent 
Rights  to  a  section  rebellious  and  passion-mad. 
France,  the  first  friend  of  the  struggling  colonies; 
England,   twice  foe  yet  professed  well-wisher, 
Both  alike  reach  to  rebellion  the  weapons 
To  aid  in  the  Nation's  destruction. 

All  Europe  stands. 
Looking  askance  at  the  tortured  Republic; 
Secretly  hoping  that,  falling  asunder. 
All  that  made  mighty  the  rule  of  a  people 
Worshiping  freedom,   should  perish  forever! 
Thus  is  the  theory  of  bondage  exalted 
Most  by  the  lips  that  had  feigned  to  deplore  it; 

ii8 


And  o'er  the  face  of  Atlantic's  wide  waters 
Float,  in  the  tones  of  scarce-veiled  exultation, 
Words  which  are  bitter  as  aloes:     "Democracy 
Is  but  a  poor  rope  of  sand!" 

And   so   galloping, 
Horses  as  eager  as  riders  for  battle, 
Rushes  to  conflict  a  valiant  people. 
Spurred  by  encouragement,  cheered  on  by  aliens, 
Blind  to  the  fact  that  the  envy  of  Tyranny 
Ever  seeks  Liberty's  fall. 

Ill 

Johnston,  Beauregard  and  Longstreet, 
Heading  columns  clad  in  gray; 

Jackson,    Kirby   Smith  and   Early, 
Ewell,  Elzey,  Jones  and  Bee; 
Pushing  onward  their  battalions 
In  bewildering  array. 

While  the  scouts  of  Holmes  and  Evans, 
Creeping  back  from  tree  to  tree. 
Tell  how  Federal  troops  are  coming 
With  the  coming  of  the  day. 

119 


Concentrating  on  the  turnpike 

Leading  off  to  Centreville, 
Forming  and  again  deploying 
Where  the  Stone  Bridge,  grim  and  gray, 
Sees  the  left  flank  of  the  Southrons 

Waiting  in  the  dawn,  as  still 
As  the  forms  of  sculptured  sentries. 
For  the  coming  of  the  fray. 

Through  the  air  of  early  morning 
Comes  the  long  and  sullen  roar 
Of  a  single  rifled  field-piece; 
And  the  Federal  skirmish  line, 
Pressing  forward,  gives  scant  warning 
Of  the  battery  soon  to  pour 

On  the  ranks  of  Cocke  and  Bonham 

Rain  of  iron  and  steel.     A  fine 
Cloud  of  dust  along  the  turnpike 

O'er  the  bridge  at  Sudley  Ford, 
Tells  the  route  the  loyal  column 
Moves  upon  to  cross  Bull  Run, — 
Tells  the  story  of  the  coming 

120 


Of  the  guns  whose  muzzles  poured 
Challenge  of  Rhode  Island's   Second, 

While  in  fury,  gun  for  gun, 
Splintering  sound  breaks  through  the  woodland. 
Burnside's  brave  untried  brigade 

Sweeps  to  front,  then  grows  unsteady, 

Falling  back  on  the  reserves; 
Sykes's  regulars,  already 

Bracing  each  thin  rank  that  swerves 

Through   the  bushes   of   Bull   Run. 

Heintzleman's  division,  sweeping 

Onward,  bears  the  starry  flag, 
Where  the  dogged  Evans  struggles 
To  maintain  his  faltering  line; 
While  across  the  ford  come  creeping 
Sherman's  men,  till  on  the  hill 
Two  brigades,  in  line  of  battle, 

Move,  as  by  a  single  will. 
Past  the  Henry  house,  and  keeping 
To  the  stream's  high  bank,  entwine 
In  a  stern  embrace  and  deadly 

121 


The  disordered  troops  of  Bee, 
Who  o'er  fence  and  furrow  leaping, 
In  wild  panic  break  and  flee. 

Onward  come  the  blue  battalions; 
Backward  fall  the  men  in  gray; 

From  the  guns  of  Ricketts,  Griffin, 
Roars  a  voice  which  seems  to  say: 
"All  the  Nation  watch  is  keeping 
On  the  issue  of  to-day." 
Now  as  rearward  seethes  and  surges 
All  the  mass  of  fear-struck  men, 

Beauregard  with  Southern  colors 
Strives  to  rally  shattered  lines; 
And  Bee,  turning  as  he  urges 
Courage  on  his  soldiers,  cries: 
"Look  at  the  brigade  of  Jackson; 
Like  a  stone  wall  there  it  stands!" 
Prophecy  is  oft  a  mystery. 

And  a  chance  word  thus  defines 
One  whose  name  through  future  history 
Like  a  lifted  beacon  shines. 

122 


Once  again  the  loyal  legions 
Press  the  column  as  it  flies; 
Once  again  a  rain  of  iron 
Hurtles  from  the  batteries. 

The  brigades  of  Franklin,  Willcox, 
Charge  across  the  broad  plateau; 
Stern  the  face  of  brave  McDowell, 
Watching  fortune  come  and  go. 
Palmer's  cavalry,  in  splendid 
Rank  on  rank,  now  turn  and  wheel, 

While  the  blue  and  gray  seem  blended 
In  the  flash  and  crash  of  steel. 

In  the  hot  and  hazy  waning 
Of  the  Summer  afternoon, 

Comes  the  desperate  final  struggle. 
Fry  calls  Burnside  to  his  aid; 
Howard  every  nerve  is  straining. 

While  the  long  Confederate  line, 
Reinforced  from  Johnston's  army, 
Presses  on  the  Federal  guns. 
Now  the  rallied  ranks  are  gaining; 

123 


Now  a  wave  of  panic  runs, 

As  the  battery  of  Ricketts 
Falls  to  silence,  and  too  soon 

Griffin,  reft  of  every  gunner, 

Must  perforce  remain  supine. 

And  ere  sinks  the  sun  to  slumber. 

Gray-clad  soldiers  hold  the  field, 
Where  the  dead  the  hillocks  cumber. 

And  war's  horror  stands  revealed. 

IV 

Disaster  and  the  crushing  of  fond  hopes, — 
The  turning  sick  at  heart, — the  ghost  of  fear 
Reaching  its  tenuous  fingers,  and  despair. 
Not  yet  triumphant,  but  with  velvet  tread 
Nearing  men's  consciousness, — such  forces  filled 
The  loyal  atmosphere  with  many  a  dark 
And  half-defined  foreboding. 

From   Bull   Run 
There  seemed  to  come  the  wail  of  Liberty, 
Struck  down,  all  undefended  of  her  sons. 

124 


The  Union  troops  had  fought  with  dogged  strength, 
Yet,   in   the   issue   joined   as   if   to   test 
The  skill  and  valor  of  the  North  and   South, 
Arrayed   alas!   in   hostile   ranks,   the   day 
Was  won  by   Southern  dash,   and   such  a  zeal 
As  bore  the  symbol  of  a  riven  land 
Up  to  the  mouth  of  loyal  guns,   and   spent 
Most  noble  blood  in  most   ignoble  cause. 
The  blue-clad  columns,   dazed,   were   falling  back 
On   Washington.     The   wires    were   thrilling   news 
To   every   hamlet   of   a   waiting   land 
That  boded   direful   happenings,   and   fell 
Upon  the  Nation's  hearing  like  a  dirge. 
Was  it  indeed  the  truth  that   Southern  men 
Possessed  the  fighting  blood?      That  Northerners, 
Coarsened  of   commerce,   could  no  more   uphold 
The  unsullied  banner   of   a  knightly  name? 
A   mighty  people,   humbled,   answered   No! 
Like   waters   rushing   o'er   a   smiling   plain 
When  some  faint  flaw  has  broadened  to  a  breach 
And  left  them  unconfined,  so  leaped  to  war 
Unnumbered  thousands,   eager   to   retrieve, — 

125 


Determined  to  avenge.      No  longer  now 
Were  regiments   refused.      The  flood   swept  on. 
Fort  Hatteras  surrendered  and  full  soon 
The  flag  of  Union  fluttered  from  its  staff. 
McClellan,  whose  auspicious  star  burned  bright, 
Took  from  the  willing  hands  of  that  untamed 
But  age-encumbered  lion,   Winfield  Scott, 
Command  of  troops  about  the  Capital. 
September  came,  and  with  it  came  the  tread 
Of   stealthy  treason   luring   Maryland; 
But  ere  the  dark  design  could  ripen,   fell 
The  mailed  hand,  preventing  by  arrest 
Assemblage   of   the   legislators,    so 
Saving  a  State  from  threatened  suicide. 
Then  came  Ball's  Bluff,  a  fight  for  field  and  fame; 
And  gallant  Baker,  pierced  by  volleys,  gave 
His   true   heart's  blood  to   dye  with   richer   hue 
The  glorious   stripes  upon   his   country's   flag. 
Port  Royal  yielded  to  the   loyal   will, 
And,   with   new   energy,   redoubled   faith, 
The  giant  of  the  North  shook  free  his  locks, 
Girding  anew  his   limbs   for  victory. 

126 


Yet  Europe,  ominous  upon  her  thrones, 
Was  evermore  unfriendly.      'Twas  in  vain 
The  Great   Republic  looked  for  moral   aid 
From  those  who  once  professed  a  holy  zeal 
To   set   the  bondmen   free.      Commercial  needs 
Outweighed  the  ethic  call.      The  sordid  mills 
Of  Birmingham  and  Manchester  set  up 
The  wail  of  mammon  for  the  daily  gorge 
Of  raw  material  to  feed  the  looms 
That   made   of   Cotton   king.     And   fired   anew 
By  hope  enkindled  through  a  foreign  hint 
Of  intervention,  the  Confederate  States 
Strove  to  ingratiate,  to  plead,  to  fawn, 
That   flattery,   the   handmaiden   of   Trade, 
Might  make  revolt  triumphant. 

So   abroad 
The   South   despatched   her   emissaries,   men 
Skilled  in  the  use  of  diplomatic  phrase, — 
Eager  to  grant  the  utmost  favor  asked, — 
Endowed  with  power  to  bind  in  solemn  pact 
And   smooth   all   dubious   issues.     On   the    Trent 
Sailed   from   Havana   Mason   and   Slidell, 

127 


Bent  on  accomplishment  of  such  a  work 
At  two  proud  courts,   St.  James  and  gay  St.   Cloud. 
And   close   upon   the   Trent's   heels   steamed   in   haste 
The  San  Jacinto,  under  the  command 
Of   Wilkes   the  patriot  Commodore.     Unused 
To   idle  parleys   when   quick   action   meant 
The  triumph  of  the  right,  he  stopped  the  Trent, 
Took  prisoner  the  Southerners,  and  steamed 
Back  to  his  country,   where  the  men,    interned 
Within   Fort   Warren's   walls,    might    silently 
Reflect  on  life's  mutations.     Then  there   rose 
A  cheer  through  all  the  North.     The  people  felt 
Deep  irritation  at  the  quick  desire 
Of  England  and  of  France  to  recognize 
The  rebels  as  belligerents,  and  now. 
When  England  made  imperious  demand 
That  men   seized   on  her   ship   should  be   released. 
The   irritation   grew   to   passion   deep, 
And   bitterest   resentment.     Wilkes's    deed 
Won  the  applause  of  all.     The  Congress  passed 
A  vote  of  thanks;  the  Navy's  head  extolled, 
And  all  the  people  praised  him.     Through  the  land 

128 


The  cry  went  up  of  "No  concession!"     Wide 
Outspread  the  wave  of  popular  demand 
For  war  before  surrender. 

But  one  soul 
Remained  serene;  one  well  poised  intellect 
Rose  above  passion  as  a  mighty  rock 
Rises   above  the   sea.     'Twas   Lincoln's  hand 
Which  stayed  the  fatal  step;  'twas  Lincoln's  keen 
Unerring  sense  of  right  that  lifted  up 
The  banner   of  consistency,   and   so 
Saved  a  distracted  country  from  a  leap 
Into  disaster  fraught  with  dire  result. 
The   South  within  its  heart  of  heart  rejoiced 
At  such  a  turn  of  fate  as   should  bring  aid 
And  firm  alliance  with  a  nation  strong 
And  on  the  sea  predominant.     To  this 
The  frenzied  North  was  blind.     But  Lincoln  saw. 
And  in  the  homely  phrase  of  common   sense 
Said:     "One  war   at  a  time.     Did  we  not  fight 
Great   Britain   once   for   doing   this   same   thing 
Which  our  own  Wilkes  has  done?     These  prisoners 
Must  be  surrendered."     And  his  voice  was   heard 
By  ears  distraught  with  passion. 

129 


Thus  again 
The  wisdom  of  the  patriot  held  on  high 
The  scroll  whose  legend  was  his  country's  weal. 

V 

How  often  hath  the  historic  muse  set  down 
Words  of  profoundest  import,  which  perchance 
The  living  hearers   lightly   dwelt  upon, 
Lacking  the  knowledge  born  of  later  years! 
Lincoln  the  patriot,   hating  as  he  might 
The   wrong   of  human   chains,   yet   clearly   saw 
And  balanced  all  the  equities.     For  him 
The  prior  duty  was  the  primal  call 
To  save  his  country  from  disruption.     Naught 
That  could  be  said  of  moral  issues,  wrapt 
In  the  eternal  question:     "Bond  or   Free?" 
Could  move  that  massive  intellect  or  swerve 
That  ever  guiding  hand. 

"Our  object  now 
Is  the  firm  maintenance  of  the  Union.     All 
Questions  of  slavery  must  bide  their  time, — 
Be   settled   in   the   light   that   Heaven   shall   shed 
When  our  first  duty's  done."     So  rang  his  words, 

130 


And   so  his   facile  pen,   confirming,   wrote: 
"I  seek  to  save  the  Union, — that  alone, — 
Neither   to  keep   nor   to  destroy  the   slave. 
If  I  could  save  the  Union  now  without 
The  freeing  of  one   slave,   that  would   I   do; 
If  I  could  save  the  Union  by  the  act 
Of  freeing  every  slave,  that  would  I  do; 
If  I  could  save  the  Union  only  by 
Freeing  some  slaves  and  leaving  others  bound, 
I  would  do  that,  and  deem  the  action  right. 
I  shall  do  only  that  which  helps  the  cause 
Whose  life  is  part  of  mine." 

So  from  the  fount 
Of  a  great  spirit  flowed  the  limpid  stream 
Of  patriotism,  unalloyed  with  self. 
Statesman,  not  yet  emancipator,  he 
Nurtured  within  his  heart  of  heart  the  twin 
Flowers   of  right   and   liberty.     By   such 
Deep  wisdom,   rising  ever  o'er  the   stress 
Of  party  passion  and  the  moment's  heat. 
States  that  yet  wavered  in  the  balance  found 
At  last  their  place  within  the  Nation's  home. 

131 


So  was  Kentucky  held,  and  Maryland; 
And  so  Missouri,  in  despite  of  all 
The  schemes  of  the  destroyers, — held  in  place 
Within  the  Union  arch.     And  from  these  three 
Came  forty  thousand  soldiers,  clad  in  blue, 
To  fight  beneath  the  stars. 

And  still  to  give 
A  touch  of  the  heroic,   Stanton  came, — 
He  of  the  iron  will  and  stalwart  breed, — 
Acrid,  irascible,  haply  too  quick 
To  pluck  the  nettle  of  ofifence  amid 
The  flowers  of  good  will,  yet  ever  true 
In  steadfastness  of  purpose  to  the  aims 
Which  were  his  high  ideal.     Ofttimes  his  mood 
Tried  sorely  the  great  President,  who  yet 
Knew  well  the  pure  gold  'neath  the  glittering  steel 
Of  the  War  Secretary, — knew  and  bore. 
In  that  long  patience  which  a  parent  gives 
To  a  too  petulant  child, — bore  silently. 
Or  with  a  suasion  gentle  as  the  breeze 
Which  bends  a  thorn  bush  on  a  day  in  June. 
And  Stanton,  holding  stoutly  to  his  own, 

132 


Grew  first  to  listen,  softening  his  wish 

To  meet  that  other  will,  and  finally 

Learned  to  accept  the  wisdom  which,  through  all 

The  darkness  of  the  time,  shone  beacon-bright 

From  Lincoln's  towering  mind. 

Now  from  afar, 
Like  to  the  faint  notes  of  a  bugle,  borne 
Across  the  listening  air,  there  floats  a  note 
Of  Freedom's  coming  song.     The  law  was  made 
Prohibiting  forever  in  the  then 
Existing  Territories,   slavery. 
And  so  the  second  step  to  tear  the  roots 
Of  bondage  from  the  soil  of  liberty 
Was  taken,  while  the  lurid  welkin  rang 
With  all  the  strident  dissonance  of  war. 

VI 

Down  the  road  to  Shiloh  church, 
On  a  morn  of  early  Spring, 

'Neath  the  trees  where  robins  perch 
Sudden  bullets  sing. 
133 


up  the  road  from  Shiloh  church, 
Sherman's  men,  unfaltering, 

Through  the  mud  and  marshes  lurch,- 
Into  action  swing. 

Unsuspecting  in  his  camp, 

Prentiss,  with  his  tired  brigade, 
Lies  at  rest  beneath  the  damp 

Canvas  colonnade. 
Comes  the  myriad-footed  tramp, — 

Comes  the  gleam  of  rebel  blade,- 
While  the  tethered  horses  stamp, 

Startled  and  afraid. 

Tumbling  out,  the  sleepy  men 

Into  line  of  battle  form; 
Onward  press  the  foe,  and  then 

Breaks  the  fiery  storm. 
Crushed  before  that  flood  of  men, 

In  their  motley  uniform. 
Federals,  numbering  one  to  ten, 

Bow  beneath  the  storm. 
134 


Soon,  the  foe  on  both  his  flanks, — 

Guns  to  left  and  guns  to  right, — 
Prentiss  sees  his  shattered  ranks 

Breaking  into  flight. 
All  are  captured,  and  the  banks 

Of  Lick  Creek  are  covered  quite 
With  the  decimated  ranks 

Telling  of  the  fight. 

Pittsburg  Landing,  where  the  lines 

Of  the  Federal  troops  begin, 
Wakes  to  life  as  daylight  shines 

Through  the  battle's  din. 
Grant,  with  steady  voice,  assigns, 

As  the  regiments  rush  in, 
Troops  to  stay  retreating  lines, 

Hoping  yet  to  win. 

Near  the  log  house  on  the  bluff, 
Looking  o'er  the  Tennessee, — 

Twenty  pieces  scarce  enough, — 
Frowns  artillery. 
135 


Hurlbut,  he  of  patriot  stuff, 

With  compacted  infantry, 
Stands  to  meet  the  summons  gruff 

Of  the  enemy. 

Next  McClernand,  Sherman,  come, 

Their  divisions  steadying, 
While,  with  measured  beat  of  drum, 

Wallace  strives  to  bring 
Order  to  his  cumbersome 

Mass  of  stragglers,  rallying 
Round  the  colors,  stricken  dumb 

While  the  bullets  sing. 

Thus  as  sinks  the  saddened  sun 

Far  across  the  Tennessee, 
Half  the  bloody  work  is  done. 

Half  is  yet  to  be. 
Grant  growls:     "I've  only  just  begun; 

Though  driven  back,  not  whipped  are  we ; 
The  fight  to-morrow  shall  be  won ; 

We'll  have  a  victory!" 
136 


Sunday  closes.     With  the  dark 

Lew  Wallace  with  five  thousand  men, 
Comes  and  glows  the  dying  spark 

Of  a  hope  again. 
Monday  dawns;  and  ere  the  lark 

Trills  his  welcome,  marsh  and  fen 
See  the  opposing  lines  that  mark 

Stern  resolves  as  when 

In  the  bright  and  buried  past 

Greeks  in  burnished  corselets,  high 
Held  aloft  their  shields,  and  cast 

Headlong,  valiantly. 
Life  and  honor  to  the  last 

On  the  field  where,  silently. 
Waging  battle,  furious,  fast, 

Warriors  fight  and  die. 

Now  the  splendid  corps  of  Buell 
Of  the  army  forms  the  left, 

And  with  Johnston's  right  a  duel 
Fights  till  nearly  cleft; 
137 


And,  disheartened  by  the  cruel 
Death  of  Johnston,  the  bereft 

Southern  legions  fall  as  fuel 
Burned  in  warp  and  weft. 

On  the  right  the  battle  rages 

Through  the  long  and  bloody  day; 
Crittenden  the  foe  engages, 

Naught  his  hand  can  stay. 
Brave  McCook,  through  all  the  stages 

Of  the  turbulent  affray 
Writes  his  name  on  history's  pages, 

Glorious  for  aye ! 

So  was  Shiloh  lost  and  won, 
On  those  early  April  days. 

Where  the  river's  waters  run 
Neath  the  Western  haze. 


138 


VII 


spring  blooms  to  Summer  and  the  Summer  wanes, 
And  as  the  hectic  glow  of  coming  death 
Touches  to  strange  new  beauty  whispering  leaves, 
Nature  seems  hearkening  to  a  message  filled 
With  mystic  spiritual  meanings. 

So  it  was 
That  they  who  watched  the  heavy  hand  of  Time 
Pass  a  rude  palm  across  the  patient  face 
Of  him  who  bore  his  country's  burden,  saw 
The  presage  of  a  season  wherein  peace 
Should  come  at  last  to  dwell  eternally. 
The  lines  that  marked  those  hollow  cheeks  were  graved 
In  deeper  emphasis,  and  o'er  the  brow 
The  shadow  of  a  sadness  grew  divine 
In  growing  deeplier  human.     The  high  stoop 
Of  weary  shoulders  bent  a  little  more; 
And  such  a  light  illumed  those  deep  gray  eyes 
As  spoke  of  thoughts  no  man  might  know. 

Perhaps 
The  memoried  figure  of  Anne  Rutledge  passed, 

139 


A. 


In  visioned  loveliness,  across  his  dreams, 
And  scenes  of  old  romance,  like  quaint  conceits, 
May  oft  have  mingled  with  the  strenuous,  stern 
And  unrelenting  problems  of  the  war. 
So,  in  the  darkest  summer  of  his  life, 
Did  Lincoln  hand  in  hand  with  Nature  go, 
The  while  the  carnage  ceased  not. 

Then  there  came 
September,  big  with  fate  and  stained  more  red 
Than  autumn's  gorgeous  touch  might  emulate; 
For  o'er  the  page  of  history  fell  a  name, — 
Antietam, — and  the  hearts  of  men  stood  still. 
Turn  thy  face,  Mercy!     Let  thy  pitying  eyes 
No  more  behold  the  sodden  fields  of  blood. 
Take  cognizance  no  more  of  riven  limbs. 
And  wounds  which  from  dumb  mouths  seem  yet  to  cry 
Against   the  hell   of   conflict! 

From  beyond 
Potomac's  marshy  banks  Lee's  legions  came, 
While  Hooker  crossed  Antietam,  out  of  range, 
Then  turning,  swept  into  the  field  and  formed 
His  lines  for  battle,  Ricketts  on  the  left. 

140 


Meade  with  his  Pennsylvanians  strongly  held 

The  centre,  while  the  guns  of  Doubleday 

Opened  upon  a  rebel  battery 

Which  sought  to  enfilade  the  loyal  line. 

Then  darkness  swept,  like  a  swart  mantle,  down, 

And  all  the  thousands  of  opposing  men 

Slept  on  their  arms  till  dawn. 

At  daylight  came 
The  rush  to  action.     Just  beyond  a  wood, 
Across  a  plowed  field  that  in  Hooker's  front 
Lay  brown  beneath  the  early  Autumn  sun, 
A  battery  pushed  its  devastating  way 
To  a  sere  cornfield,  which,  before  the  day 
Should  sink  to  slumber,  was  foredoomed  to  be 
Soaked  with  America's  best  blood.     Here  Meade 
Was  side  by  side  with  Ricketts,  facing  there 
The  thin  brigade  of  Lawton  and  the  men 
Of  Jackson's  own  division.     Hooker's  corps 
Hurled  itself  headlong  on  the  rebel  host 
Till  Hood's  division,  coming  up,  brought  hope 
To  those  who  faltered. 


141 


Then  the  fresh  brigades 
Of  Gordon,  Crawford,  both  of  Mansfield's  corps, 
Came  to  support  the  wavering  Union  Hne, 
And  mid  the  crash  of  guns  and  rending  scream 
Of  shells  which  hurtled  death  along  the  air, 
The  carnage  held  its  sway,  and  brave  men  lay- 
In  awful  heaps  amid  the  serried  corn. 
So  wore  the  mad  day  to  its  bloody  close. 
The  while  through  streets  of  Sharpsburg  rumbling  went 
The  carts  and  wagons  improvised  to  do 
The  ambulance's  duty,  laden  each 
With  its  soul-sickening  burden  of  dead  flesh. 
Such  was  Antietam, — such  the  hideous  tale 
Which,  written  in  the  page  of  history,  makes 
And  mars  a  scene  of  that  wide  drama  whose 
Unfolding   is  the   story  of   a  world. 


142 


BOOK   FIFTH 


BOOK   FIFTH 

I 

How  deeply  rooted  in  the  human  breast, 
How  firmly  seated  in  the  human  soul, 
Is  that  large  aspiration,  unrepressed 
By  any  law,  defying  the  control 
Of  all  tradition,  love  of  freedom,  whole 
Untrammeled  and  unchecked,  which  through  the  race 

Courses  like  life  blood,  levying  its  toll 
Of  discontent  divine,  and  o'er  the  face 
Of  men  the  symbols  of  its  presence  quick  to  trace. 

Sweet  Liberty,  what  realms  of  joy  are  thine! 
What  music  marks  the  fall  of  riven  chains! 
What  light  celestial  o'er  thy  brow  doth  shine. 
Thou  goddess  of  our  country's  hills  and  plains! 
Woe  ever  to  the  tyrant  who  disdains 
The  lofty  word  thy  lips  articulate. 

And  woe  yet  deeper  to  a  land  where  reigns 
Enthroned   slavery,   the   fitting  mate 
Of  sin-conceived  Rebellion  and  unreasoning  Hate. 

MS 


Long  in  the  brooding  bosom  of  the  slave 
The  seed  of  Hberty  had  dormant  lain; 
Long  in  a  land  of  promise  yearning  gave 
An  added  sharpness  to  the  dole  of  pain. 
Across  the  flag  the  sanguinary  stain 
Of  legal  bondage  bowed  a  Nation's  head; 

Till  those  who  loved  America  were  fain 
To  harbor  hope,  commingled  oft  with  dread, 
That  soon  the  curse  should  be  forever  banished. 

Yet  ever  with  an  ordered  motion  flow 

The  under  currents  of  life's  restless  sea; 
The  mind  that  made  the  law  alone  doth  know 
How  long  fulfilment  of  the  law's  decree 
Shall  wait  on  circumstance.     But  destiny 
Is  thwarted  never,  and  there  comes  at  last 

The  end  that  crowns  the  work,  that  law  may  be 
Supreme  to-day  as  in  the  storied  past, — 
Fixt  as  the  hours  when  Fate  her  silent  die  hath  cast. 


146 


Through  mists  of  all  the  years  since  Lincoln  saw 

His  fellow  beings  bartered  at  the  block, 
Had  gleamed  the  light  of  God's  eternal  law, 
Impregnable  and  moveless  as  a  rock 
That  rears  its  head,  nor  ever  recks  the  shock 
Of  weltering  waves,  whose  crested  summits  tower 
In  hissing  foam  which  serves  to  make  a  mock 
Of  its  own  nothingness.     Now  came  the  hour 
To  strike,  for  he  who  had  the  will  had  now  the  power. 

Not  hastily,  but  after  labored  thought, 

The  great  American  saw  clear  the  way, 
Stern  logic  of  events  at  last  had  brought 
The  line  of  duty  to  the  light  of  day. 
No  longer  need  that  earnest  spirit  pray 
For  guidance,  since  a  word  of  high  command 

Bade  him  go  boldly  on,  nor  longer  stay 
The  deed  awaiting  his  obedient  hand, 
That  dowered  with  liberty  a  long  defrauded  land. 


147 


Thus  in  conjunction  came  the  hour  and  man 

To  strike  from  milHons  fetters  which  should  be 
The  future  symbols  of  a  tyrant's  plan 
To  thwart  the  uplift  of  humanity. 
Thus  came  the  sword  of  righteousness  to  free 
Each  base  slave  from  a  baser  owner's  will, 

Cleaving  tradition  that  the  world  might  see 
How  outraged  Liberty  is  potent  still 
Her  mission  and  her  purpose  ever  to  fulfill. 

So  Abraham  Lincoln  wrote  his  glorious  name 

Beneath  the  proclamation  which  endowed 
The  slaves  with  freedom  and  himself  with  fame 
More  lasting  than  a  Caesar's,  and  more  proud. 
Above  the  fleeting  plaudits  of  the  crowd 
The  story  of  this  deed,  through  all  the  years, 

Shall  echo  in  reverberations  loud 
And  fill  the  measured  music  of  the  spheres, 
Touching  with  joy  the  memory  of  human  tears. 


148 


II 

At  Falmouth,  where  the  Rappahannock  runs 
Serenely  smiling  to  the  winter  sky, 
The  gallant  Sumner  massed  his  men  and  sought 
To  cross  to  Fredericksburg,  now  occupied 
By  Barksdale's  Mississippi  riflemen. 
Who,  from  behind  the  shelter  of  the  walls 
Of  buildings  and  of  gardens,  filled  the  air 
With  the  staccato  of  his  sharpshooters. 
The  while  Lee's  engineers  upon  the  heights 
Reared  hasty  breastworks,  seeking  to  repel 
The  loyal  gunboats  steaming  up  the  stream 
Near  to  Port  Royal.     Further  up,  the  bluffs 
Leaned  nearer  where  the  river  narrowed.     Thence 
The  guns  of  Burnside  pounded  on  the  town, — 
The  stubborn  town  that  hugged  its  treason  close, — 
Till  Fredericksburg  was  rid  of  Barksdale's  gray 
And  dust-begrimed  sharpshooters,  and  the  streets 
Echoed  the  tread  of  loyal  feet  once  more. 
Upon  the  left  was  Franklin,  pushing  on 
To  lay  pontoons,  o'er  which  the  army  passed. 
Filling  the  long  hours  of  the  sombre  night 
With  the  low  muffled  sound  of  myriad  feet, 

149 


Hasting  to  form  in  line  of  battle  where 
The  looming  shapes  of  Lee's  Confederate  ranks, 
Full  eighty  thousand  strong,  in  silence  stood 
Awaiting  the  assault.     There  on  the  right 
The  corps  of  Stonewall  Jackson,  firm,  compact, 
Was  fashioned  for  defense,  while  on  the  left 
Was  Longstreet,  heading  long,  thin  lines  of  gray, 
As  moveless  as  the  shrubbery  whose  leaves 
Seemed  listening  for  the  call  to  bloody  deeds. 
Now  through  the  mist  a  sudden  burst  of  sun 
Glinted  upon  the  Union  troops,  whom  Couch 
Led  from  the  battered  buildings  of  the  town 
To  capture  Marye's  Hill. 

No  braver  men 
Did  ever  smile  on  death  than  these  who  rushed 
Even  to  the  base  of  that  rude  wall  of  stone, 
Behind  whose  shelter  rebel  batteries,  masked, 
Belched   forth   the   red  hell  of  their   cannonades. 
Alas!  the  heroic  men  of  Hancock's  corps 
Went  down  like  grass  before  the  reaper's  blade; 
Alas!  for  those  brave  Irish  hearts  that  beat 
Within  the  breasts  of  Meagher's  bold  brigade, 
Dashing  itself  again,  and  yet  again, 

150 


Against  the  heights  impregnable,  until 

The  thousands  that  had  charged  lay  on  the  field 

With  hearts  that  beat  no  more. 

Then   Hancock's   corps 
Charged  up  the  flashing  heights,  and  French's  men 
Rushed  madly  on  the  death  which  Barksdale  dealt 
Unsparing  from  the  safety  of  his  wall. 
Howard's  division,  in  support,  and  part 
Of  the  strong  corps  of  Wilcox,  held  the  rear, 
To  keep  communication  with  the  town. 
And  even  as  the  day  drew  near  its  close 
The  slaughter  of  brave  men  went  madly  on, 
And  only  night  brought   silence. 

Such  the  price 
Which  freemen  pay  for  liberty!     Such,  too, 
The  hideous  toll  of  war  when  treason  lifts 
A  blood-stained  hand  to  take  a  Nation's  life 
In  sateless  rage.     And  such  was  Fredericksburg. 


in 


Through  the  dark  winter  Victory  held  her  scales 
At  even  balance,  and,  as  dawned  the  Spring, 

151 


Each  side  was  fain  to  flatter  hope,  nor  yield 

To  the  deep  craving  for  surcease  of  all 

The  agonies  of  war.     At  Washington 

The  Congress  of  the  Nation,  grown  to  know 

The  depth  of  that  great  soul  whose  utter  faith 

Made  doubt  impossible,  in  stern  resolve 

Bended  new  energies,  and  cast  aside 

All  minor  differences  in  the  work 

Which  yet  remained  to  do.     But  still  there  lurked, 

Like  poison  adders  hissing  in  the  grass. 

Through  all  the  straining  North,  the  "Copperheads, 

Intent  to  strike  their  coward  blows  where'er 

Shelter  from  harm  made  treason  tenable. 

How  wide  the  contrast  with  their  brethren  quick 

To  meet  the  issue  and  face  death  like  men 

Upon  the  Southern  fields!     Lee,  moved  to  draw 

His  sword  by  a  misguided  sense,  yet  true 

In  every  action  of  his  manly  life; 

Johnston  and  Longstreet,  Stonewall  Jackson,  brave 

Unflinching  soldiers  fighting  for  a  cause 

Made  less  ignoble  by  their  valor, — these 

Stand  forth  as  men,  demanding  from  our  minds 

The  lofty  judgment  of  a  high  ideal. 

IS2 


But  they  who,  at  the  North,  by  word  and  deed, 

Sought  ever  to  embarrass  and  destroy 

The  government  whose  sustenance  they  sucked, — 

These  serpents  risking  naught,  but  from  the  dark 

Spitting  their  venom  in  the  hope  to  kill, — 

Deserve  from  human  judgment  only  scorn, — 

The  averted  face  of  every  honest  man! 

Nor  was  there  unanimity  to  seal 

And  make  efficient  efforts  of  the  North 

To  enforce  the  Union's  supremacy. 

Among  the  generals  jealousy  too  oft 

Uttered  insidious  whispers. 

More  intent 
To  win  the  unearned  plaudits  of  the  crowd 
By  claiming  credit  for  another's  act. 
Than  to  cooperate  to  bring  about 
Results  of  greatest  import,  some  of  those 
Whose  post  of  power  should  have  instilled  the  thought 
Of  high  endeavor  showed  the  petty  wish 
For   self   aggrandizement. 

And  Lincoln's  heart 
Was  heavy  at  the  thought  of  victory  lost 
Because  of  aid  withheld.     Nor  did  the  time 

153 


Bring  cheer  to  the  great,  loyal  people  held 
In  a  prolonged  suspense.     The  Spring  grew  fair, 
And  pipings  of  the  birds  made  Nature  glad, 
Despite  the  dirge  of  murder  in  the  air; 
May-day  was  mild,  when  westward  on  the  road 
From  Chancellorsville  the  regulars  of  Sykes 
Marched  cautiously,  soon  coming  on  a  force 
Of  rebel  troops,  who,  in  extended  line. 
Strove  to  outflank  them.     Seeking  to  connect 
With  Slocum's  corps  and  failing,  Sykes  fell  back, 
And  when  night  came  the  men  in  blue  and  gray 
Alike  were  conscious  that  the  dawning  day 
Must  bring  the  groaning  harvest  of  red  death 
To  many  a  valiant  soldier. 

With    the    light 
Came  Sickles'  corps  from  Fredericksburg,  and  soon 
Birney's  division,  pounding  with  its  guns, 
Scattered  confusion  through  Confederate  ranks; 
Then  charging,  in  its  onslaught  carried  down 
All  opposition,  capturing  at  last 
A  half  a  thousand  prisoners.     The  day 
Wore  on  with  varying  fortune.     Afternoon 

154 


Found  Birney  formed  in  hollow  square,  his  guns 
Placed  in  the  centre.     Barlow's  tried  brigade 
Supporting  well  his  right;  but  Whipple's  Third, 
Relied  on  to  support  the  left,  came  not; 
And  while  the  Union  leaders  waited,  keen 
To  push  success  to  victory,  there  rushed 
A  horde  of  panic-stricken  fugitives 
From  the  Eleventh  Corps,  in  Birney's  rear; 
And  these  bore  tidings  of  disaster  wrought 
Upon  the  First  division, — Deven's  men, — 
Caught  unaware,  and  in  an  avalanche 
Of  Stonewall  Jackson's  army  swept  away 
In  awful  wreck  and  havoc.     Suddenly 
From  out  the  thick  woods  poured  the  men  in  gray, 
Charging  from  three  sides,  sweeping  to  their  doom 
Down  the  old  road  from  Chancellorsville,  in  rout, 
Schurz's  division, — rolling  from  their  path 
Von  Steinwehr's  men,  and  spreading  through  the  ranks 
Of  all  the  Federal  troops  the  panic  bred 
By  threat  of  a  disaster  unexplained. 
Sickles,  with  cavalry  of  Pleasanton 
Preparing  for  a  charge,  was  quickly  brought 

IS5 


To  sense  of  his  own  danger,  when  he  learned 
That  Howard's  corps  was  crushed,  and  in  his  rear 
The  rebels  were  triumphant.     There  was  one. 
One  only  thing  to  do;  and  Pleasanton, 
Turning  to  Major  Keenan  of  the  staunch 
Eighth  Pennsylvania,  gave  his  command: 
"A  charge  is  needed.     Take  your  regiment 
Into  those  woods,  and  hold  the  enemy 
At  any  cost  till  I  can  get  my  guns 
Into  position." 

Keenan   said:     "I   will." 
And,  with  his  scant  five  hundred  men,  he  charged 
Into  the  thirty  thousand  troops  in  gray. 
Checking  them  for  a  moment,  till  he  fell. 
Dying  a  glorious  death  with  duty  done. 
Meanwhile  the  artillery  of  Pleasanton 
Made  ready  in  the  road  to  greet  with  shot 
The  oncoming  enemy,  who  from  the  woods 
Displayed  the  loyal  flag,  in  hope  to  cheat 
The  Union  troops,  upon  whose  frowning  guns 
They  waited  but  to  charge.     The  subterfuge 
Availed  but  little,  and  at  last  they  came 

156 


On,  on,  as  burst  to  flame  the  gaping  mouths 
Of  cannon  belching  death,  and  piHng  high 
The  roadway  with   the   dead.     And   in   that   hell 
Fell  Stonewall  Jackson,  wounded  mortally, 
The  bravest  soldier  in  a  cause  forlorn. 


IV 


Few  could  see  as  Lincoln  saw 

Clear  the  working  of  the  law 

That  America  must  be 

Welded  close  in  unity. 

Not  two  peoples,  one  alone 

Could  insure  to  Freedom's  throne 

Permanence  and  power  to  draw 

Men  to  action.     Such  the  law. 

In  the  East  was  Richmond,  still 

Subject  to  a  rebel  will; 

In  the  West  stood  Vicksburg,  frowning 

O'er  the  Mississippi,  crowning 

With  its  black  defiant  guns 

Bluffs  at  whose  green  bases  runs 

157 


That  onsweeping,  mighty  stream 
On  whose  breast  the   flatboats  gleam, 
Bearing  fruits  of  industry 
Southward  to  the  shining  sea. 
Now  throughout  the  waiting  land 
Comes  a  summons  and  command, 
Comes  a  patriot  message  sent 
By  a  patriot  President: 
"We  must  have,  as  have  we  shall, 
Richmond,  treason's  capital; 
But  so  long  as  in  the  West 
Rebel  strength  is  unrepressed, — 
While  an  alien  power  holds  sway 
O'er  our  inland  waterway, — 
We  can  never  be  as  one. 
Moving  on  in  unison." 
Wise  the  words,  and  happily 
Time  was  ripe  for  wisdom;  he 
Who  from  out  the  West  had  brought 
To  his  task  the  single  thought 
To  uphold  his  country's  cause 
And  enforce  her  righteous  laws, — 

158 


Grant,  the  silent,  came  to  press 
Sternly  onward  to  success. 
His  the  keen  and  careful  plan 
When  the  boats  of  Porter  ran, 
Past  the  flashing  batteries, 
Lighting  up  the  sombre  skies, 
Past  the  forts  of  Vicksburg,  on 
To  the  mounds  of  Warrenton. 
Then  the  transports,  silently 
As  a  tide  which  seeks  the  sea, 
Under  cover  of  the  night. 
Floated,  ere  the  morning  light. 
Safe  below  the  city,  where 
Grant  awaited  them.     With  care 
Every  move  was  made.     Each  day. 
Through  the  sunny  month  of  May, 
Saw  the  lines  more  closely  drawn,— 
Saw  the  coming  of  the  dawn 
Which  should  usher  in  the  day 
Of  the  rescued  Union's  sway. 
One  by  one  the  strongholds  fell. 
Though  the  rebels  fought  full  well. 

159 


Soon,  above  the  state-house  dome 
In  the  town  of  Jackson, — home 
Of   a   recreant   State,   the   flag 
Of  the  Nation  floated.     Brag 
As  they  might  of  dare  and  dash, 
Southern  soldiers,  mid  the  crash 
And  the  ceaseless  roar  of  guns, 
Where  the  Yazoo  swiftly  runs, 
Fled  across  the  farms  wherethrough 
Grant's  converging  lines  of  blue 
Pressed,   and   ever   closelier   drew. 
Round  the  goal  of  long  desire, — 
Vicksburg,  city  rimmed  with  fire. 
Shut  in  the  beleaguered  place, 
Pemberton,  brought  face  to  face 
With   starvation,   grim   and  gaunt, 
Long  withstood  the  siege  of  Grant; 
Holding  out,  from  day  to  day, 
While  the  gunboats  kept  their  play 
Ceaselessly  of  shot  and  shell 
On  the  crumbling  citadel. 
Less  and  less  the  rations  grew, 

1 60 


While  the  Southern  standard  flew 

Through  the  lengthening  days  of  June, 

Hoping  for  relief,  yet  soon 

Forced  to  ask  for  terms.     So  fell 

Treason's  Western  citadel. 

Carrying  downward  in  its  fall 

Rebellion's  dearest  hopes,  while  all 

The  loyal  North  sent  up  a  cry 

Of  triumph  and  of  victory; 

And  lips  devout  found  time  to  pray 

Upon  the  Nation's  natal  day. 


At  Frederick  lay  the  armies  of  the  blue; 
At  Hagerstown  the  gray.     The  intrepid  Lee, 
As  one  who  quenched  at  last  a  burning  thirst 
To  quaff  from  Northern  beakers,  gave  command 
To  enter  Pennsylvania's  wide  domain. 
And  now,  at  Chambersburg,  his  solid  ranks 
Stood,  waiting  till  his  strong  hand  should  unleash 
Their  eager  spirits  for  the  coming  fray 

i6i 


Which  all  felt  hovering,  like  an  imminent  storm, 
Athwart  the  silent  sky. 

Then  came  the  word 
To  concentrate  at  Gettysburg.     To  Meade, 
Gallant  and  wise  yet  ever  cautious,  fell 
Supreme  command  of  the  great  army,  now 
Destined  at  last  to  conquer  and  retrieve 
Long  wasted  days  of  sickening  delay 
And  unexplained  inaction.     North  and  South, 
A  sense  intuitive,  pervasive,  strong. 
Filled  every  breast  with  knowledge  that  the  hour 
Had  struck  for  the  decisive  final  test, 
Upon  whose  issue  hung  the  mighty  fate, 
Of  a  divided  people.     And  as  rose 
The  reddened  sun  upon  July's  first  day. 
The  corps  of  Reynolds,  marching  through  the  town. 
Came  unexpectedly  upon  the  foe, 
Before  whose  heavy  force  he  fell  back,  till 
The  enemy,  grown  rash,  advanced  too  far 
And  quickly  learned  his  error.     But  alas! 
The  gallant  leader,  pressing  to  the  front, — 
The  patriot  Reynolds, — garnered  to  himself 
The  meed  of  noble  death. 

162 


Then   Howard  reached 
The  field  of  action  and  assumed  command, 
Leaving  his  corps  in  charge  of  Schurz. 

High  up 
On  Cemetery  Hill,  the  men  in  blue 
Looked  out  upon  the  ranks  of  Ewell, — they 
Whom  Stonewall  Jackson  had  so  often  led 
To  victory  for  the  wrong.     Once  and  again 
Repulsed,  the  gray  line  faltered  and  drew  back; 
But  at  the  last  the  rebels  held  the  town; 
And  as  the  sun  declined  across  the  hills, 
Each  army  sought  in  concentration,  strength 
To  meet  the  morrow's  issue. 

To   the   right 
Of  Cemetery  Hill,  the  Federals  lay, 
In  wide  extension  towards  Rock  Creek,  beyond 
Whose  whispering  waters  reared  Wolf  Hill. 

The  left 
Bent  Westward,  even  to  Round  Top,  on  whose  slope 
More  blue  battalions  made  a  crescent,  marked 
In  sombre  outlines.     With  the  dark  there  came 
The   Third   and   Twelfth    corps,    and   ere    night   had 
reached 

163 


Its  turning,  Meade  arrived  upon  the  field, 
Quickly  in  order  of  battle  placing  all 
The  troops  at  his  command.     Upon  the  right 
Was   Slocum  with  the  Twelfth. 

The   Third   and    Fifth, 
With  Sickles  in  their  forefront,  held  the  left; 
While  at  the  centre  Hancock,  like  a  rock, 
Stood  at  the  head  of  all  that  war  had  left 
Of  the  brave  First  and  Second.     Howard,  too, 
With  the  Eleventh,  kept  a  line  compact. 
Ready  to  shift  at  need  to  either  wing. 
Along  the  crest  of  Cemetery  Hill 
A  hundred  Union  guns,  in  grim  array. 
Looked  down  upon  the  field. 

The  morning  broke, 
Yet  those  two  silent  hosts  no  movement  made, 
But,  like  opposing  lions,  couchant,  glared 
Each  in  the  other's  eyes.     The  morning  sped 
To  noontide,  and  the  field  was  silent  still; 
The  noon,  in  shimmering  heat,  gave  place  to  all 
The  languor  of  a  Summer  afternoon; 
Yet  no  gun  spoke.     And  Meade,  who  knew  full  well 

164 


The  strength  of  his  position,  waited  still 
The  coming  of  the  foe. 

"They   must   attack; 
Be  ready  when  they  come."     So  said  the  keen 
And  ever  cautious  Meade.     Then,  as  the  day 
Wore  on  to  longer  shadows,  suddenly 
A  virulent  mile  of  fire  leaped  into  life 
Along  the  rebel  line.     The  maddening  roar 
Of  field  artillery,  the  answering  scream 
Of  hurtling  shells,  rended  the  Summer  air; 
And  from  the  skirts  of  Cemetery  Hill 
A  rain  of  iron  death  implacably 
Poured  on  the  ranks  of  gray. 

Then  came  the  yell, — 
The  Southern  yell  which  fired  the  Southern  blood, — 
And,  sweeping  in  mad  charge,  the  regiments, 
Brigades,  divisions,  dashed  against  the  storm 
Of  grape  and  canister,  which  never  ceased 
Their  awful   hail   of   hell. 

Up  to  the  guns 
The  withering  gray  lines  pushed  themselves,  and  like 
Sun-stricken  snow,  melted  to  nothingness. 

i6s 


The  Federal  gunners  by  the  hundreds  fell 
Beside  their  pieces,  but  yet  others  came 
To  serve  the  guns  and  die. 

Again,   again, 
The  rebel  hosts  were  shattered  and  hurled  back; 
The  men  in  blue  across  their  piled-up  dead 
Loaded  and  fired  and  fell.     Yet  onward  came 
The  Southern  thousands,  while,  stern  man  to  man, 
American  fought  with  American, 
Acrid,  unyielding,  strong! 

Across    the    fields 
Pressed  Longstreet,  Pickett,  Hood,  McLaws  and  Heth, 
Dashing  their  legions  against  Hancock's  ranks, 
Upreared  like  rocks  that  balked   a  seething   sea. 
And  Hancock,  wounded,  through  his  anguish  laughed. 
As  to  the  muzzles  of  our  batteries 
The  graybacks  fought  their  way,  and  still  were  struck 
Down  to  the  sodden  earth  by  loyal  arms. 
Now  Sickles  from  the  front  was  borne  away 
Desperately  wounded,  and  as  victory  seemed 
Hung  in  the  balance,  Sedgwick's  gallant  corps, 
Weary  with  marching  but  undaunted  still, 

i66 


Swept  like  an  avalanche  upon  the  field, 
Crushing  the  foe  back  on  his  crumbling  lines. 
Now  upon  Slocum  on  the  right  there  came 
A  sudden  dash  by  Early;  but  again 
The  Northern  veterans,  like  giants,  hurled 
Rebellion  back  and  triumphed. 

So  the  day, — 
The  bloody  second  day  of  Gettysburg, — 
Drew  to  its  awful  close;  and  on  the  field 
Unnumbered  thousands  lay  in  hideous  heaps, — 
The  dead  and  dying, — in  a  mute  appeal 
To  human  dread  and  pity. 

With  the   dawn 
Again  the  guns  of  Longstreet  roared  abroad 
Their  challenge  of  defiance,  and  again 
The  blue  lines  swung  to  action.     Slocum  rushed 
With  splendid  vigor  upon  Early;  Sykes 
Pushed  his  division  up,  and  Humphreys'  corps 
Swooped  upon  Stonewall  Jackson's  men,  who  soon 
Were  driven  backward.     But  ere  yet  the  day 
Had  ripened  to  its  fulness,  all  at  once 
Lee  hurled  the  whole  strength  of  his  army  straight 

167 


On  Cemetery  Hill.     His  hundred  guns 
Poured  their  concentric  fire  upon  the  massed 
And  wearied  blue  battalions.     Through  the  air 
The  riven  rocks  and  uptorn  earth  were  hurled; 
The  trees  went  down  before  that  blast,  and  men 
And  horses  fell  about  their  guns.     Then  came 
The  answering  artillery,  till  far 
Across  the  green  miles  of  the  ruined  farms 
The  echoes  shrieked  of  war. 

Now   Pickett  charged 
In  mad  abandon  on  our  infantry 
Along  the  road  which  led  to  Emmettsburg; 
And  Gibbon  with  his  Second  Corps  stood  fast. 
Waiting  the  impact.     "Hold  your  fire,"  he  cried. 
"They're  not  yet  near  enough."     And  even  as 
He  spoke,  the  rebel  steel  flashed  in  the  sun 
Close  to  our  rifle-pits.     "Now  fire."     A  blaze 
Of   death    flamed   down    the    line, — the    long,    curved 

line, — 
Of  that  brave  Second  Corps;  and  Pickett's  men 
Reeled,  shattered,  back  to  waiting  death,  and  broke 
In  wild  confusion.     Those  who  in  retreat 

i68 


Saw  but  the  end  of  all,  threw  down  their  arms, 
Surrendering  by  the  thousands.     Then  there  came 
A  panic  spreading  through  the  Southern  host; 
Whole  regiments  surrendered.     On  the  field, 
Amid  the  dead  and  dying,  lay  the  arms 
Discarded  by  defeated  men,  who  chose 
Surrender  as  a  welcome  refuge. 

Thus 
Was  fought  and  won  the  bloodiest  battle  known 
In  all  the  records  of  this  Western  world; 
And  as  the  remnants  of  Lee's  army  crossed 
Once  more  the  wide  Potomac,  in  his  soul 
He  must  have  heard  the  knell  of  Southern  hopes, 
Even  as  the  elated  hearts  of  loyalists 
Acclaimed  fruition  in  acclaiming  Meade. 


VI 


In  bleak  November,  standing  on  that  field 
Heroic  in  the  annals  of  the  world, 
A  patriot  spoke  the  words  of  prophecy, 
A  prophet  worshiped  at  his  country's  shrine. 

169 


And  as  across  the  dim  dismantled  farms 
Chill  Autumn   sighed,   the  unremembering  winds 
Bore  on  their  wings  the  message  of  a  seer 
To  the  remembering  years: 

"Our  fathers  here, 
Four  score  and  seven  years  ago,  brought  forth 
A  Nation  new,  conceived  in  liberty, 
And  dedicated  to  the  truth  that  all 
Men  are  created  equal.     Now  we  wage 
A  mighty  civil  war,  to  test  the  strength 
Of  such  a  Nation.     On  this  battlefield 
We  meet  to  dedicate  a  resting  place 
For  those  who  here  gave  up  their  lives  that  we 
Might,  as  a  living  people,  still  endure. 
Our  act  is  fit;  but  in  a  larger  sense 
We  cannot  consecrate  or  hallow  ground 
Already  hallowed  by  the  imperial  dead, — 
They  who  in  struggling  here  have  set  their  deeds 
So  far  above  our  praising.     'Tis  for  us 
To  dedicate  to  the  unfinished  work 
Ourselves,  in  dear  devotion  to  the  dead, — 
Heroic  souls  who  in  a  holy  cause 

170 


Gave  the  last  measure  of  a  patriot's  love. 
Let  us  find  here  our  duty.     Let  us  here 
Highly  resolve  that  they  who  on  this  field 
Breathed  out  their  lives,  shall  not  have  died  in  vain,- 
That  our  loved  Nation,  under  God,  shall  have 
New  birth  of  freedom,  and  that  government 
Of,  by,  and  for  the  people,  shall  not  cease 
Or  perish  from  the  earth." 

And  Lincoln's  voice. 
In  tones  which  told  of  tears,  became  the  wraith 
Of  music  falling  off  along  the  breeze, — 
A  melody  to  fill  the  souls  of  men, 
Wrapt  in  the  mantle  of  the  silences. 


171 


BOOK  SIXTH 


BOOK   SIXTH 


Vicksburg  and  Gettysburg!     How  thrill  the  names 
Within  the  porches  of  the  ears  long  strained 
To  catch  the  first  notes  of  victorious  peace! 
Till  now  hope  long  deferred  had  sickened  hearts 
Filled  with  the  love  of  home  and  native  land; 
Till  now  a  fratricidal  contest  brought 
Results  but  indecisive.     But  at  last 
Men  knew  the  tide  had  turned;  for  Grant  and  Meade, 
Hurling  rebellion  back  to  feed  its  spleen 
Upon  the  offal  of  its  own  chagrin, 
Set  bounds  forever  to  the  onward  sweep 
Of  Lee,  whose  boast  had  been  that  Southern  steel 
Should  sweep  the  spoil  of  Pennsylvania  farms, — 
A  boast  well  amplified  by  threats  which  fell 
From  the  thin  lips  of  Davis,  grown  apace 
In  insolence  and  malice.     "Soon,"  he  cried, 

175 


"We'll  carry  war  where  sword  and  torch  may  glut 
Their  appetite  within  the  densely  packed 
Great  cities  of  the  North." 

But  Fate,  that  holds 
A  scale  whose  dipping  no  man  may  foresee, 
Ruled  otherwise.     With  Vicksburg  captured,  all 
The  taint  of  treason  that  had  soiled  the  air 
Where  the  great  Mississippi  seeks  the  sea, 
Was  blown  away,  and  rebel  territory 
Severed  in  twain  forever.     In  the  West 
Rebellion's  power  was  broken.     In  the  ranks 
Of  a  free  Nation's  army  now  there  served 
A  hundred  thousand  freedmen,  whose  dark  skins 
No  longer  bore  the  brand  of  slavery, 
And  in  whose  hearts  dwelt  gratitude,  and  all 
The  new  lit  fires  of  liberty.     Then  came 
"The  Rock  of  Chickamauga," — Thomas, — brave 
To  save  an  army,  and  snatch  victory's  flower 
From  shadows  of  defeat.     Grant,  silent,  stern. 
Assumed  command  at  Louisville,   and  brought 
The  tempered  power  of  an  iron  will 
To  render  action  vital.     Up  the  heights 

176 


:> 


Of  Lookout  Mountain  Sherman's  forces  charged, 
And  from  the  end  of  Missionary  Ridge 
Hurled  down  destruction  on  a  fleeing  foe. 
Hooker,  impetuous,  drove  the  Southern  host 
Far   up   the   western   slope,    and   through   the   woods 
Sent  scurrying,  panic  struck,  the  broken  ranks 
Of  rebel  regiments.     The  next  day  saw 
The  army  of  the  Cumberland  assail 
The  field  works  grouped  on  Missionary  Ridge, 
And  at  the  bayonet  point  sweep  out  the  men 
Who,  under  Bragg,  had  fought  in  gallant  style 
To  save  a  waning  cause.     To  Tunnel  Hill 
The  dauntless  Thomas  now  pursued  and  fought 
Again  the  harassed  Bragg,  while  Burnside  met 
And,  with  the  help  of  Sherman,  backward  turned 
The  men  of  Longstreet,  who  in  swift  retreat 
Seeking  Virginia,  left  Tennessee 
In  full  possession  of  the  Union  arms. 
Thus  came  relief  to  those  enduring  souls 
Whose   loyalty   no   persecution   balked. 
When  in  the  mountains  of  their  Western  homes 
They  dwelt  without  protection  from  the  land 
Whose  flag  they  dearly  loved. 

177 


And  Lincoln  saw 
As  in  a  glass  of  fate  the  glimmering  dawn 
Spread,  like  a  hint  of  coming  joy,  across 
The  silent  slumbering  hills.     A  prescience  filled 
The  chambers  of  his  brain,  and  through  his  dreams 
Wove  pictures,  haply  born  mysteriously 
In  that  large  spiritual  nature, — knit  perchance 
Into  the  fabric  of  to-day's  events, 
Even  as  the  imagination  of  a  seer 
Colors  all  prophecy  to  make  it  real. 
"I  have  a  dream  that  comes  and  comes  again, 
Asleep  or  waking, — in  the  night,  the  day, — 
I  know  not  whence  it  comes,  or  what  should  bode 
Its  strange  persistence  and  the  vividness 
Of  its  appearing.     It  is  of  a  ship. 
With  canvas  set  and  bellying  in  the  wind, — 
A  ship  fast  sailing  to  an  unknown  port, — 
Freighted  with  hope;  with  helm  held  hard  and  bow 
Leaping  across  the  foam." 

So  spoke  the  man 
Whose  rugged  hand  guided  the  ship  of  State, — 
Whose  human  heart  bled  with  a  people's  woes 
And  bore  a  Nation's  burden. 

178 


II 


Onward   swept 
The  tide  of  victory.     Yet  no  great  deed 
Reaches  fruition  unalloyed  of  toil 
And  sweat  of  bended  brows. 

The  call  went  forth 
For  men  to  carry  forward  to  the  end 
The  country's  vital  struggle,  and  so  crush 
Into  the  ashes  of  its  baleful  fires 
Rebellion's  hateful  form.     The  draft  became 
The  unavoidable  recourse  of  war, 
And  States  and  people  bowed,  save  in  New  York 
Whose  unavailing  riots  did  but  blot 
The  'scutcheon  of  a  city,  proud  and  rich 
Yet  swarming  with  the  men  of  foreign  birth 
And  fire-bred  fugitives  from  a  rebel  South, 
Who  had  not  learned  the  patriot's  creed.     To  these 
Were  joined  that  horde  of  coward  souls  whose  name, 
The  "Copperheads,"  sounded  in  honest  ears 
Like  some  fell  serpent's  hiss, — beings  too  mean 
To  venture  worthless  lives  in  any  cause, 

179 


Yet  prone  to  blatant  mouthings  safe  at  home, 
And,  like  assassins  crawling  in  the  dark, 
Seeking  to  stab  a  mother  in  the  back, 
The  while  they  shared  her  bounty. 

But   the   wheels 
Of  destiny  could  not  be  blocked  by  hate. 
Nor  Freedom's  cause  be  thwarted  of  its  goal; 
And  as  Time  turned  the  page,  another  year 
Saw  a  united  North  more  firmly  set, — 
More  solidly  determined  than  before, — 
To  save  the  Union  and  forever  blot 
Treason  and  slavery  from  the  records  marred 
By  blood-stained  fingers. 

Now  the  time  was  ripe 
To  incorporate  in  the  fundamental  law 
The  prohibition  of  the  right  to  hold 
Black  men  in  bondage,  throughout  all  the  length 
Of  a  land  dedicate  to  liberty. 
So  was  Emancipation  made  complete, 
And  so  was  Lincoln  justified. 

Meanwhile 
Grant,  called  to  the  Potomac,  came  to  take 

1 80 


Into  his  vigorous  hands  the  threads  left  loose 

By  Meade,  who  faltered  on  the  heels  of  fate. 

And,  after  victory  gloriously  won, 

Failed  strangely  to  crush  Lee,  who  crossed  again 

The  broad  Potomac  to  his  former  lines. 

Upon  the  soil  of  old  Virginia  stood 

The  ranks  of  long  opposing  armies,  each 

Seasoned  to  war's  mutations.     Grant  and  Lee 

At  last  were  face  to  face;  the  hero  one 

Of  Vicksburg  and  the  storied  Western  fields; 

The  hope  the  other  of  a  militant  South, 

Weakened  but  still  unconquered. 

As    the    Spring 
Ripened  to  Summer,  came  the  clash  of  steel, — 
The  rending  of  the  air  with  deadly  fire. 
The  Rapidan  was  crossed,  and  followed  fast 
The  bloody  battles  of  the  Wilderness. 
At  Opequan  the  gallant  Sheridan 
Drove  Early  from  the  field,  and  following 
Even  to  the  Blue  Ridge  passes,   ravaged  all 
The  fruitful  valley,  leaving  desolate 
The  one  time  smiling  fields.     But  Early  crossed 

i8i 


A- 


Again  the  mountains,  and  the  Federal  troops, 
Retreating  in  confusion,  made  a  stand 
At  Middletown,  from  whence  the  voice  of  guns 
Reached  Sheridan  at  Winchester. 

Like   Hght 
He  rode  in  furious  haste,  and  to  the  field 
Brought  such  magnetic  presence  as  inspired 
Each  man  with  double  courage,  and  insured 
The  quick  repulse  of  Early,  who  was  fain 
To  flee  with  broken  ranks. 

So  came  the  end 
Of  war  in  Shenandoah  Valley;  so 
Rose  to  the  stature  of  a  hero  he 
Whose  sobriquet  became  a  shibboleth: 
"Cavalry  Sheridan." 

Now    Sherman    drew 
His  lines  about  Atlanta.     Towards  the  sea 
He  bent  his  soldierly,  adventurous  eyes. 
"We  cannot  stay,"  so  wrote  the  hero  of  historic  deeds, 
"Upon  the  mere  defensive.     I  prefer 
To  make  a  wreck  of  roads  and  country  here. 
From  Chattanooga  to  Atlanta,  then 

182 


Send  back  my  wounded,  and  through  Georgia  move 
With  an  effective  army  to  the  sea. 
War,    which   is   hell,    cannot   be   delicate; 
I  must  move,  smashing  all  things,  to  the  sea." 
And  Grant,  more  cautious,  yet  demurred,  but  soon 
Gave  Sherman  all  his  will,  and  Sherman  cast 
His  fortunes  in  the  balance,  cutting  all 
Communications  in  his   rear,   and  so 
Marched  onward  to  the  sea. 

Then  Farragut, 
While  thus  the  Union  arms  on  land  bore  high 
A  laureled  victory,  seized  upon  Mobile, 
His  vessels  sweeping  down,  unmindful  how 
Torpedoes  barred  the  way.     Thus  history  grew 
Into  romance,  and  on  Time's  tablets  wrote 
The  record  of  imperishable  deeds. 


HI 


Amid  the  roar  of  war  is  heard  the  voice 
Of  civic  duty,  calling  through  the  land 
The  approaching  termination  of  the  rule 

183 


Of  him  on  whom  the  people  set  their  hopes, — 
Of  him  whose  heart  the  people  knew  was  true, — 
Whose  staunch  integrity  and  loyal  faith 
No  one  could  call  in  question.     East  and  West 
The  stern  demand  was  made  that  none  but  he 
Should  be  entrusted  with  the  Nation's   fate, — 
That  none  but  he  should  consummate  the  work 
Begun  by  him  and  by  his  wisdom  brought 
In  sight  of  fair  fruition.     Some  there  were. 
Inspired  by  ignorance,  envy,  or  the  zeal 
Which  ever  advocates  a  change,  who  strove 
To  nominate  some  stranger  to  lead  on 
The  hosts  of  Union  to  the  wished-for  end. 
Such  men  as  Greeley,  honest  in  intent. 
But  easily  beguiled,  and  overfond 
Of  lending  ear  to  his  own  vain  conceits, 
Puffed  with  a  reputation  grown  beyond 
The  sum  of  his  deserts.     Such  men  as  Chase, 
Disloyal  to  his   chief,   while  doubtless   true 
To  what  he  deemed  the  right.     Such  as  Fremont, 
Hot-headed  in  a  righteous  cause,  but  prone 
To  strangle  prudence  with  publicity. 

184 


These  men  and  many  more  made  argument 

Against  renomination  of  the  man 

To  whose  sagacity  and  splendid  zeal 

The  Nation  owed  its  life.     But  all  in  vain 

The  opposition  strove  to  drown  the  call 

Of  a  free  people  for  the  trusted  chief 

Who  dwelt  within  the  hearts  of  all  who  held 

Country  above  ambition. 

Thus  the  choice 
Fell  once  again  on  Lincoln.     Once  again 
He  stood  upon  the  Eastern  portico, 
Where,  in  the  mists  of  a  departed  hour. 
He  plead  for  peace,  and,  holding  forth  gaunt  hands, 
Implored  his  wayward  countrymen  to  pause. 
They  heeded  not,  but,  answering  with  jeers, 
Plunged  into  battle,  proud  and  arrogant. 
Full  of  the  overconfidence  which  breeds 
The  seeds  of  its  undoing. 

Through  the  stress, 
The  awful  murderous  stress,  of  those  four  years, 
America  had  agonized,  and  care 
Had  writ  deep  lines  on  Lincoln's  homely  face. 

185 


The  maddened  South  had  driven  deep  its  crime 
Into  its  own  torn  entrails,  and  to-day 
Stood,  Hke  a  desolated  temple,  reft 
Of  all  that  once  was  beauty. 

From  the  throng 
Now  burst  a  mighty  cheer;  from  throats  grown  dry 
With  fever  came  the  faint  pathetic  note 
Of  those  whom  weeks  in  crowded  hospitals 
Had  left  but  wrecks  of  men. 

On  crutches   came 
Hundreds  of  soldiers,  maimed,  to  serve  the  cause 
And  fight  the  fight  of  freedom;  and  anon 
An  eager  light  stole  piteously  athwart 
The  faded  eyes  of  men  who  soon  must  die 
Of  dread  disease  of  camp  and  swampy  field. 
Who  yet  would  die  the  happier  to  have  seen 
The  saviour  of  his   country. 

Lifting  up 
His  face,  whereon  emotion  lambent  played, 
Lincoln  made  sign  for  silence,  and  his  lips 
Uttered  the  message  that  was  half  a  prayer. 
He  showed  the  purposes  which  rashly  led 

i86 


The  insurgents  into  action;  how  at  first 

The  government  sought  but  to  set  due  bounds 

To  slavery's  extension, — not  at  all 

To  banish  it;  how,  by  their  own  mad  act, 

The  people  of  the  South  had  forced  the  end 

Of  slavery  forever. 

"Ah!"   he  cried, 
"The  Almighty's  purposes  are  all  His  own. 
Woe  to  the  world  because  offences  come. 
Offences  needs  must  come,  but  woe  to  him 
By  whom  the  wrong  is  wrought.     Shall  we  suppose 
That  slavery,  which  haply  needs  must  come, 
Hath  brought  the  woe  of  war  to  North  and  South? 
Fondly  we  hope,   as   fervently   we   pray. 
That  this  grim  scourge  of  war  may  pass  away; 
Yet  if  God  wills  that  it  continue  till 
The  wealth  piled  up  by  all  the  centuries 
Of  unrequited  labor  shall  be  sunk, — 
Till  every  drop  of  blood  drawn  by  the  lash 
Shall  be  repaid  by  one  drawn  by  the  sword, — 
So  still  it  must  be  said,  as  'twas  of  yore. 
The  judgments  of  the  Lord  are  ever  true 
And  righteous  altogether." 

187 


Then  in  tears, 
Vibrant  with  all  the  passion  of  a  seer: 
"With  malice,"  spoke  the  prophet,   "towards  none; 
With  charity  for  all;  with  firmness  in 
The  right,  as  God  gives  us  to  see  the  right, 
Let  us  complete  the  work  that  we  are  in." 
When  he  had  ended,  the  upswelling  cheer 
That  rose,  fell  off  to  silence,  checked  by  awe 
Too  deep   for  human  bearing;  and  adown 
The  gusty  colonnades  and  broad  arcades 
Of  the  vast  capitol,  an  echo  rang 
Heard  yet  to-day:     "With  charity  for  all." 


IV 


Yea,  and  the  time  made  bitter  call  for  all 
The  strength  of  human  wills,  to  keep  the  faith 
With  scorned  humanity's  most  stern  commands. 
From  Libby  Prison  came  the  rending  cry 
Of  Union  soldiers,  scourged  to  tasks,  and  galled 
With  chains  more  bitter  than  the  clutch  of  death. 
The  outraged  face  of  Mercy  turned  away 
From  all  the  horrors  of  Fort  Pillow;  while 

i88 


At  Andersonville  carnival  went  on 

To  please  the  bloody  fancies  of  a  fiend. 

Then  in  the  Senate  rose  the  sturdy  Wade, 

Demanding  that  retaliation  be 

Forthwith  resorted  to.     But  Sumner's  voice 

Was  firm  for  righteousness.     And  Lincoln  spoke, 

Out  of  his  human  heart,  those  words  of  gold: 

"I  cannot  starve  and  murder  men,  though  all 

The  malice  of  our  foes  should  goad  us  on. 

Two  wrongs  have  never  made  a  right,  and  we 

Must  follow  conscience  even  to  the  end." 

Now,  as  the  glimmerings  of  coming  peace 
Greatened  to  dawn,  the  mind  of  Lincoln  dwelt 
On  reconstruction  of  the  edifice 
So  rudely  shocked  by  war.     The  Union  stood, 
Yet  from  a  smoking,  desolated  South 
Came  glimpses  but  of  ruin.     Every  State 
Still  in  rebellion  must  be  organized 
Under  a  new  and  loyal  government. 
Obedience  first,  then  restoration  to 
The  rights  of  citizenship,  and  once  again 

189 


r- 


Admission  to  the  councils  of  the  land. 

The  mighty  task  which  now  a  mighty  mind 

Essayed  to  carry  to  completion,  was 

The  rearing  of  the  torn  Republic's  fane, 

The  restoration  of  a  temple  fair 

In  all  its  pristine  beauty. 

Yet  once  more 
There  came  the  call  to  battle.     Lee  was  camped 
Beside  the  Appomattox,  while  there  drew 
An  ever  closing  circle  of  blue  ranks. 
Upon  whose  banners  victory  sat  to  cheer 
Each  loyal  soul  to  action.     Grant  was  there, 
Silent  and  confident,  his  veterans 
Eager  to  make  an  ending  of  the  foe. 
Sherman,  whose  lines  of  eighty  thousand  men 
Sought  but  to  form  the  junction  which  should  force 
All  opposition  down,  watched  eagerly 
The  coming  of  the  end;  while  Sheridan, 
Earnest,  alert  and  rapid,  marched  to  seize 
Lee's  only  avenue  of  exit.     Thus 
A  fustian  Confederacy  was  brought 
To  its  last  gasp  of  life.     Lee,  ever  brave, 

igo 


Held  out,  but  warned  his  chief  that  Petersburg 
And  Richmond  too  must  fall. 

Then  Davis  fled, 
A  pitiable  object,  symbol  fit 
Of  treason  decked  in  fear's  habiliments; 
And  at  the  dawning  of  another  day 
The  Union  cavalry  possession  took 
Of  Richmond,  and  upon  the  state-house  raised 
Once  more  the  old  flag, — the  unsullied  stars 
And  waving  stripes  of  freedom. 

But    for    Grant 
A  greater  goal  lured  onward.     Then  and  there 
He  vowed  to  "end  the  matter."     Pushing  on 
Up  one   side  of  the   Appomattox,   Ord, 
Leading  the  valiant  army  of  the  James; 
Grant  on  the  other,  and  with  Sheridan 
Scouring  the  ground  in  front,  no  hope  was  left 
For  the  intrepid  Lee.     Through  weary  years 
He  had  endured  the  grinding  strains  of  war, 
And  in  a  cause  unrighteous  ever  held 
The  path  of  righteous  action.     Now  he  saw 
The  inevitable  end,  and,  stung  to  tears, 

191 


A- 


Bore  manly  sorrows  with  a  dignity 

Befitting  manhood  in  its  best  estate. 

Yielding  to  Grant  his  sword,  he  bore  away 

The  fragrance  of  a  character  unstained, 

The  while  his  conqueror,  large-hearted,  broad, 

Gave  generous  terms,  exacting  naught  that  held 

The  savor  of  dishonor. 

So   the   sun 
Which  shone  on  Appomattox,  lit  the  fires 
Of  patriot  exultation,  for  all  knew 
Rebellion  died  upon  that  April  day, 
And  once  again  the  Union  was  supreme. 
Meanwhile,  the  patient  Lincoln,  lifting  eyes 
Of  thankfulness  to  that  Almighty  power 
Whose  presence  was  his  bulwark,  came  to  tread 
The  dreary  streets  of  Richmond,  looking  long 
Upon  the  walls  of  Libby  and  the  marks 
Of  desolation  and  the  finger-prints 
Of  bloody-handed  war. 

The   negroes   flocked 
To  see  him,  hear  him  speak,  haply  to  touch 
His  garments  who,  like  a  Messiah,  came, 

192 


Bringing  deliverance  and  the  gift  of  life; 
Kissing  the  hand  whose  act  had  set  them  free, 
Blessing  the  saviour  whose  redemption  brought 
The  life  of  liberty  to  souls  long  crushed 
Beneath  the  weight  of  serfdom. 

Through   the   North, — 
The  iron-willed,  indomitable  North, — 
Ran  the  electric  joy,  the  deep  content 
That  comes  of  great  accomplishment. 

The   land 
Once  more  was  liberty's,  once  more  was  free 
And  dedicate  to  justice.     From  the  South 
The  sound  of  crumbling  armies,  like  a  dirge, 
Came  fitful  on  the  balmy  winds  of  Spring; 
And  echoes  of  dire  desolation  died 
Amid  the  anthem  chords  of  victory. 


Ring   out,    ye   bells! 
From  factory,  tower  and  steeple, 
Ye  bells  that  call  to  daily  toil 

193 


The  thews  and  sinews  of  a  mighty  people; 
Ye  bells  whose  long,   reverberant  echo  swells 
Through  lattices  where  moss  and  ivy  coil 
Cool  fingers  mid  the  stones; 
Ye  bells  that  utter  the  muezzin  call 
Translated  to  the  language  of  the  Christ; 

Ring  out  in  ecstasy  to  one  and  all 
Peace,  whose  soft  touch  forever  hath  sufficed 
To  silence  sorrow's  moans. 

Oh!  Mother-Land,  how  agonized  have  been 
The  torture  and  the  travail  of  thy  days! 
What  hideous  sights  thine  outraged  eyes  have  seen! 
What  blood  hath  smeared  the  verdure  of  thy  bays! 
And  'mid  thy  laurel  the  commingled  rue 
Hath  spread  the  gloom  of  a  funereal  shade, 
Till  thou,  whose  lips  were  fashioned  to  command, 
Hast,  of  thy  mother-love,  been  forced  to  sue, 
Lest  thine  infuriate  children,  undismayed, 
Should  drench  a  sorrowing  land 

With  one  another's  blood.     How  from  thy  view 
Have  patriots  passed  to  judgment!     How 

194 


Have  they  held  high  their  colors  and  gone  down 
In  glorious  pageantry  of  mailed  death! 
Alas!  that  for  the  crime  of  slavery  thou 
Shouldst  be  condemned  to  wear  a  martyr's  crown, 
Listening  with  bated  breath 
To  the  long  roll-call  of  thy  martial  dead! 
Yet  is  the  end  accomplished.     Even  now, 
'Mid  the  low  requiem  of  thy  muffled  drums, 

A  deep  exultant  cry, 
Born  on  the  rounded  lips  of  Victory,  comes, — 
Life's  music  woven  through  a  threnody. 
Like  an  immortal  joy! 
War  is  a  spectre  fled; 
Rebellion,  as  a  dragon  in  the  throes 

Of  a  last  agony,  through  all  the  South 
Lashes  the  dust  of  desolation's  woes. 
And  from  its  fetid  mouth 
Spits  forth  the  poison  fated  to  destroy 
Itself  in  its  own  infamy. 
At  Appomattox  the  strong  hand  of  Grant 
Crushed  out  the  life  of  treason.     Gallant  Lee 
Surrendered  with  his  legions  the  last  plea 

195 


r 


For  human  bondage  and  the  right  of  States 
To  sovereignty  supreme.     Now  at  the  gates 
Of  a  free  Nation's  capital  we  plant, 
Unsullied  still,  the  free  flag  of  the  people. 

So  ring  out,  ye  bells! 
From  factory,  tower  and  steeple 

The  victory  whose  echo  proudly  swells; 

And,   as  the  dissonant  war-cries  slowly  cease, 
Far  over  suncapped  hills  and  greening  dells 
Fling  forth  your  word  of  peace. 


Yet  toll,  ye  bells! 
Down  all  the  arches  of  the  lonesome  sky 

Pour  forth  the  message  of  a  murdered  joy! 
And  even  as  the  victor's  song  foretells 

Peace  that  nor  hate  nor  malice  may  destroy, 
Weave  through  the  cadence,  as  it  upward  swells, 
The  echo  of  a  long  heart-broken  sigh 

Wrung  from  an  anguished  people. 
Toll,  ye  bells,  from  factory,  tower  and  steeple, 
In  tones  made  eloquent  of  garnered  woe, 

196 


Divinely  fashioned  by  the  hand  of  Grief, 
Utter  the  sadness  which  they  only  know 

Whose  every  flower  is  plucked  from  sorrow's  sheaf; 
For  he  is  dead  who  loved  his  country  so, — 

Our  leader  and  our  chief! 

With  new  light  dawning  in  his  saddened  eyes, 

With  new  joy  in  his  ever  steadfast  soul, 
Lincoln  the  patriot  saw  at  last  the  prize 
Gleam  with  the  glory  of  a  patriot's  goal. 
And  even  in  that  moment  crafty  death 

Stole  on  him  in  a  murderous  madman's  guise, 
And  he  who  saved  a  Nation,  in  a  breath 
Was  one  with  God's  immensities. 
Ah,  Fate  inscrutable!     Was  there  no  life 

Other  than  his  to  yield  itself  to  thee? 
Was  there  no  other  heart  to  still  its  strife 
And  end  its  being  at  thy  stern  decree? 

Dear  God!     That  he  who  bore  a  people's  woes, — 
A  man  of  sorrows  bending  'neath  his  cross, — 
Should,  at  the  moment  of  his  blest  release 

From  the  deep  anguish  which  a  patriot  knows 

197 


A- 


In  presence  of  his  bleeding  country's  loss, 
Meet  death's  dark  midnight  at  the  dawn  of  peace, — 
Endure  the  thorns  amid  the  bitter  dross. 
Yet  miss  at  last  the  rapture  of  the  rose. 

Then  toll,  sad  bells! 
In  falling  minor  tones  o'er  sun-kissed  fields. 
In  dying  strains  far  over  dreamy  hills. 

Through  all  the  pulsing  life  of  cities,  bent 
Upon  the  rich  rewards  which  effort  yields, 

O'er  trodden  street  and  meadow  flower  besprent, 
Sound  the  despair  which,  like  a  requiem,  stills 
The  song  of  exultation,  and  dispels 
The  flush  that  victory  lent. 

Toll,  solemn  bells! 
Through  dim  evanished  years 

We  seem  to  catch  the  echo  of  your  tones. 

And  standing  where  no  note  of  discord  mars 
The  melody  of  life,  to  hear  the  moans, — 
The  piteous  drip  of  tears, — 

Preluding  Victory's  paean,  which  foretells 
Immortal  music  sung  among  the  stars. 

198 


f 


5???;. 

M':^- 


•M. 


m 


■M 


w- 


m\ 


;S^--:; 


mM^ 


7M 


:*::*■ 


'mfi 


i<^-:l 

n  ■■>-.. 


fhV.±'..S:-:.fi-. 


% 


